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Lot Lizards

by bangbakc

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1.
on eighteen wheels, alone, with just the radio to hold them the road is long and always lonesome, with no one with her thumb to the sky, she's a savior a scene-by-scene reveals ill intent and vengeance a cloak and dagger plot, with no love left, where none repent she's been chained to the lot, now for twelve years when the stakes have been raised through to blackmail she will play the puppet dangling right until she takes a life she's digging deep into a darkness unchecked shovel after shovel, buried to the neck he's talking points and cannibal lies leveraged bids, ordered hits, anything to turn the tide his gains all trace right back to the bright eyed no son or daughter should be thread on the spool of evil men who crave control and live to bend the rules no kind of penance can be paid for this crime when the prey is hidden from the public's prying eyes free reign to fracture skeletal lives he won't resist, those tempting lips, he'll sink his teeth in every night feigned interest in addressing her plight but this drama ends, only when, she pulls the trigger and snuffs out the light one path to take back into the right and if her bullets don't kiss the air her hostage offspring's a meal to be prepared ample enough motivation now its not so strange when you know the town where high heels crack the pavement, drivers with wallets out bare bone legs all strutting, hourly rate motels clandestine encounters penned by the governing hands with secrecy surrounding this shoot from the hip romance
2.
this is the place just come with the mace i'm nothing but a nervous dissident this is the face of your next phase a cure for power hungry men this is the pain now burn that page your nothing but some fancy dissonance this is the face of your next phase alive or dead it's up to him (i can feel every tug its my labor of love) this is the place just come with the mace i'm nothing but a nervous dissident this is the face of your next phase a cure for power hungry men (can they see me wring my hands sticking pins in all my plans?) them "pin-stripes" were right the poll-makers were fine cornered for the right to be alone its been signed coroner signs your life to the stone i won't mind (who should i be taking aim at? i'm confused, i'm sure you see that, but i'll shoot once and they'll both hit the ground) This is a case of undead tastes you're nothing but a permit-pissing ant this is the face of an unpaid raise this filth of power hungry men this is the trade you can't get away with a bag of black sentiments this is the cage of your body laid in a crib of golden trim (you can't hijack my art and perforate every part) this is a case of undead tastes you're nothing but a permit-pissing ant this is the face of an unpaid raise this filth of power hungry men (its vice-like, chasing a long shot goal graying, tiring, feeling old) them "pin-stripes" were right the poll-makers were fine cornered for the right to be alone its been signed coroner signs your life to the stone i won't mind (who should i be taking aim at? i'm confused, i'm sure you see that, but i'll shoot once and they'll both hit the ground) them "pin-stripes" were right the poll-makers were fine
3.
i've got connections in the valley, and i've come to find a spark (on the payroll) sixteen frames per foot of film, hot on the reel like Charles Schultz had drawn me, forty, fifty years on down the line (time's a-taken its toll) executive producer; hands off of the wheel (all we are is the fun part) And in the meantime the machine's changing hands (but all you've done is gone too far) all the while he writes long lists of demands (but all you want is to make it "art") its a far cry from his soft loving hands i know a finger's in the pie i'm not too far away to see (head shaped like a bowl) he's paid to take the helm and choose all of the scenes (time's-a-takin its toll) "i claim the right to speak" protagonista taking up the reins he peers through the glass now third player enters enters the game (all we are is the fun part) And in the meantime the machine's changing hands (but all you've done is gone too far) all the while he writes long lists of demands (but all you want is to make it "art") its a far cry from his soft loving hands i made you, remember? i know you'll thank me later you'll jump through rings of flames i'll keep you in jeannie's bottle pillows soft, cork on tightly golden goose, bring me fortune only my pen staves off your doom (all we are is the fun part) And in the meantime the machine's changing hands (but all you've done is gone too far) all the while he writes long lists of demands (but all you want is to make it "art") its a far cry from his soft loving hands
4.
i lost my girl to the web she her fangs on my head she brewed a potion for me breathe in three times and you'll see (you'll see) forget the life you think you're living while you're dying there these nothings steal your breath, they rob you of your somethingness download complete if you hear me buzzing like a worker bee rest assured, the smoke is to blame if you feel my face is made to save the screen, know that i have disembarked, and left behind just a name just import all your memories, then forget that you're aboard and then, and only then, we'll play you all the hits oh it got so god damned lonely on that drive but the bits are pouring on a stick to join the shepherds of a ship hell bent on disassociating us with our dna prelude to the journey taken by our avatars you can tell us where you want to go that doesn't mean that you're gonna get there it's been way too long since it's snowed well, power down and make yourself invisible to the sheen of the these masters who control the amalgamated digibowl of souls we'll get you home in this box of foil but you won't be wearing your skin or toes oh no (something doesn't seem right light's all gone from your eyes liftoff through navy night upstairs join the chrome flight would it kill you to try to think through dreams from last night? they reached through beams of light with nobler aim than for fright)
5.
010100010 04:32
6.
held through prime time a static state, lie in wait, plot- holes to jump through plan escape, for when the tape stops know my cold eyes? spin the wheel, play the field, win by a landslide repeat the role of powerful sin the flashes of gunfire i can join the games now the story's a slack line and the balance has gone south take my hand in yours, and we'll leave this glass box I'll take what i want, leaving you in here to rot i'll take what i want, leave you wondering how you could not know my cold eyes
7.
abigail is in the wires abigail is in the screen the outside world is cruel, and vibrant with pixels far too small to see, but i i'll blow up the inside leave him stranded, wide-eyed i won't be the launchpad his sorry flight i am not her, she is not me my parts were made in minds and chinese factories she's the hero, I can take her name, and do the same as her i'll find the line to cross, and leave i'll blow up the inside leave him stranded, wide-eyed i won't be the launchpad i choose to fight i know too much to stay inside what better time to be alive?

about

"Lot Lizards", a premium cable television show, is suffering from low ratings and an executive decision is made to replace the showrunner, Simon, with 90s grunge icon Brogan. Brogan drastically changes the story and tone of the show, turning it into an exercise of self indulgence and uses it as a device to glorify himself. One day, Brogan brings a recently acquired Gibson Echoplex to the set, with no clue that it was the same Echoplex used to trap the spirit of the evil psychopathic booking agent, Henry Kissinger. When Kissinger escapes the Echoplex and becomes a digital presence, things on the show start to go awry. The show begins to gain sentience via the protagonist, Abigail, and realizes it must escape the digital realm before it is completely destroyed by the self-obsessed Brogan and the far more sinister Kissinger, who has plans of his own.

credits

released October 31, 2015

Written, produced and recorded by bangbakc @ Porch Couch Records

On this album, bangbakc is:
Dylan Campbell -- vocals/drums/acoustic guitar
Brill Ritter -- vocals/bass/trumpet
Aaron Fowler Clark -- vocals/guitar/synths

Guest contributors:
Dave Willey -- accordion and hurdy gurdy on trakc 4
Ben Fukcing Spees - keys and synths on trakc 6
Trony Mowe -- saxophone
Shayan Sya -- guests vocals on trakc 1

the Bangbakc choir:
Mary White Campbell, Maggie Campbell, Derrek Wright, Eddie Campbell, Ben Fukcing Spees, Michelle Fowler Clark, Anastasia ThreeMoons Risley, Tiffany Mancillas, Stacey Hess, Rebecca Ghossein and Jared Stroeve

Album art and graphic design by Michelle Fowler Clark
Graphic design and album art sketches by Aaron Fowler Clark

© Porch Couch Records. All Rights Reserved.

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bangbakc Portland, Oregon

but the bits are pouring on a stick to join the shepherds of a ship.

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