Three Cheers for the Firing Squad (EP)

by Swamp

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06:09

about

"...let your gutters be properly torn by that badass downtuned roar of the guitar, and get high …"
-Mari, Sludge Swamp

"3 beastly, down-tuned and trudgy as hell tracks that sound like they could have come straight from the swamplands themselves..."
-D, Disorderly Conduct

"Swamp...is pure, dark sludgy filth... [A] bluesy mix of brutality and distorted madness. I jammed the shit out of these three songs over and over... I only give this band a short time before...blowing up tremendously."
-R. Gnarly, American Aftermath

Written and Recorded 2010-2011 at Architoa Studios in Indianapolis, Indiana.

credits

released 13 May 2011
Lyrics and Music by Stephen Hoffman.
Artwork and Layout by Stephen Hoffman.
Engineered and Produced by Stephen Hoffman.

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about

Swamp Indianapolis, Indiana

Formed in early 2010, Swamp is a four member one-man-band consisting of the collective figments of the various musical imaginations of Stephen Hoffman, slowly and painstakingly integrated into a coherent musical form through excessive amplification, anal-retentive drum programming, and the lyrical genius gleaned from hours of extended screaming matches with mirrors. ... more

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Track Name: I Want My God and I Want My Guns
Lies! O victimless reapers;
Weave in to night their cunning and sick illusion of Christ.
Dire! O visionless dreamers;
Blinded and sleepless.

Anxious anticipation;
And when death takes you,
You’ll wish that life had been more precious
(to you, won’t you?)

Fire! We’ve burnt all your steeples;
Engulfed in purifying flame.


Pray! No one is listening.
Gray! Deadly and glistening;
Dull glassy eyes judge human lives.
Slay! Your God commands it.

(Take me home)

Hypocrisy!

I want my God and I want my guns
To cling to.
Pilgrims to the church of the atomic bomb:
Bearing their crosses,
Armed to the teeth.
I want my God and my guns
To cling to.
(Religiously)
I want my God and my guns
To cling to.
(Desperately)
Track Name: Trespassers Will Be Shot
Barbed wire and fading signs
line roads through foggy mire unkind
To rusted shacks engulfed by vine,
Bred by sludge, forgot in time.
Bayou people peer through mossy blinds
Waiting patiently for prey.

In wicked ground tangled locks of weed,
Bleeding sewer seed, so viciously.
Onward sparks of breeding trees
In the swamps of Architoa.

Sludge in their veins like ball and chain
To swamp’s domain, unknown, profane

You’ll be looking down the barrel of a loaded gun
Trespassers will be shot, indiscriminately.
Aimed by rotten inbred fucks (missing some chromosomes).
Survivors will be shot over and over again.

In wicked ground tangled locks of weed,
Bleeding sewer seed so viciously.
Onward sparks of breeding trees
In the swamps of Architoa.

Slug in your brain, slow oozing pain,
Sludge in your veins, unknown, profane.

Shrooms bring down those greasy punks.
Scavengers. Trespassers.
Get off my lawn you fucking kids.
Track Name: Painstaker
Go take your medication.
This is the last great American movement.
Peace and love are dead, rebellion has been quelled.
All that’s left is the dead rotting carcass of American culture
Left out in the sun to wither.

Soaked in acid, wrapped in fuzz,
Saturated in smoke and nicotine buzzed
Broken glass litters filthy floor,
Wooden panels mask the sick and the bored.
Bitter gaze, caustic little smile,
And from dead eyes, the sting of the bile.

Wash down those pills,
They keep it at bay;
The disease that cripples
And fills your life with decay.
Moth-bitten curtains,
Yellowed and sour.

And the gin helps too, but you already know that don’t you?
Beautiful brainwashing abuse
Slowly driving you insane; withered lace, where is my brain?
Beautiful brainwashing abuse

Soaked in acid, wrapped in fuzz,
Saturated in smoke and nicotine buzzed.
Broken glass litters filthy floor,
Wooden panels mask the sick and the bored.
Bitter gaze, caustic little smile
Leaking from dead eyes, porcelain and vile.