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Layered in viscous, yellowing fats
Dashed with rinds, spiced meats from vats
Bubbling rennet and bulging crust
Into the crude wood fire oven is thrust
The scorching aroma of hot pepperoni
With dough kneaded lovingly by a man named Tony
The scent of grated parmesan reminds me of puke
Don’t question the quality or your pie he’ll rebuke
Hot box . . . Deep pan . . . With the lot . . . We goin’ h.a.m.
Slavishly devouring the extra thick crust
Slopping my chin with hot, spurting sauce
Fold the golden wedge - insert it in my maw
Masticating cheese is my only fatal flaw
Platters o’ splatter ingested with gusto
Various meats, spices, and pesto
Anchovies and garlic hot on my breath
Cramming my face ‘til there’s nothing left
(lead: Symphonies of thick crust)
. . . Margherita . . . Marinara . . .
. . . Capricciosa . . . Napoletana . . .
. . . Artichoke . . . Antipasto . . .
. . . Jalapeneo . . . Oregano . . .
Flushed and sweating from the spice
Blistering palate from boiling cheese
Slave to the slice . . .
Shrivelled clumps of flesh I eat
Stuffing my face, yes I’m quite
A disgrace in the pizzeria
This psychedelic, molten culinary disc
Is a silent partner in my meatlover’s tryst
An unhealthy affair, in a round-about way
Leads to cravings for deep dish every day . . .
Fallen fragments are picked from the box
Ambiguous pieces are gathered to scoff
Greasy fingers smoosh the crumbly mush
Chased down with a beaker of carbonated slush
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2. |
Reek Of Putrefaction
04:34
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Jeff's vocal parts by Denis Sputumwretcher
Bill & Ken's vocal parts by Daniel Chymeswiller
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3. |
Foeticide
03:27
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Jeff's vocal parts by Denis Sputumwretcher
Bill's vocal parts by Daniel Chymeswiller
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Callous band of thieves digging up the past
Disinterred, detuned, dirty, and done fast
Tippled tomb raiders inhale putrescent riffs
Infringe the body (of work) - corrupting aural grift
Reaping the spoils of another’s toil
We ransack a plot of idealogical gold
Compact urns contain artistic wealth
Greater than we can muster, so we steal them in stealth
Compromised coffins can never gather dust
As revivalist vultures pick and tear at the husk
Fagin-like filchers strip the carcass bare
We’re the tools of this tirade, but we don’t seem to care
With pedant romanticism we’re enchanting the lugubrious
Though there lies a gaping schism
Between the real and the unscrupulous
And though our tainted wares are given out as gifts
Their underlying worth is purely counterfeit
Intellectual property is not disposed of properly
This underground trade - a poor man’s monopoly
Common class crooks conducting artful robbery
Carried out in plain sight, and done rather sloppily
(lead: Raptured in fraudulence)
“Looting obliterates the memory of the ancient world and turns its highest artistic creations into decorations, adornments on a shelf, divorced from historical context and ultimately from all meaning”
Postmortem keepsakes from crypts we exhume
Redress, rearrange, and shabbily costume . . .
Oeuvre adorned in stolen jewels
Grave concerns for nostalgic fools . . .
(lead: Decease & desist)
We galavant around in this deceased estate
Riffling through repertoire with morbid musical urges to sate
But never will attain that score for which we strive
They come back from the dead to eat us alive . . .
(lead: Bill [im]posters will be prosecuted)
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FLATUS Australia
FLATUS [fley-tuhs. noun.] 1. Intestinal gas produced by bacterial action on waste matter in the intestines and composed primarily of hydrogen sulphide and varying amounts of methane; 2. Australian based band of grinding musicians sharing an unhealthy interest in the macabre. ... more
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