Surf's Down (Live)

by Fat Goth

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Recorded live at Seagate Studios, Dundee by Graeme Watt. February 3rd 2013.

Live versions of songs from the album 'Stud'.


released April 1, 2013



all rights reserved
Track Name: Surf's Down (Live)
Rip, don’t tear,
Give them all a reason to stare,
Foul protrusions racing out and wrapping around your hide.
Shoot your muck,
Hogging all the bad luck,
Dirty little entities wriggle round inside.

What a sight! Sickly white with an inappropriate grin,
Such a beautiful butterfly.
Now defences have welcomed in decay,
Periodically retching uncontrollably.

Grind and grate,
Don’t stop for goodness sake,
Keeping it on the down-low and underneath your bed.
Stick it in, bite it off,
Formaldehyde, Kalashnikov,
Oh my God, what’s that thing behind you?

Sing it loud and sing it proud, a walking travesty,
Maybe better off in a zoo.
Oh, my lady, there’s no question who’s the boss,
She says she loves me while she nails me to the cross.

Way down, dig deep, it’s breaking through.
Big bad, no good, somewhat erratic too.

Get rank, get ripped, so very regrettable,
Bone dry, stinking and entirely accountable.
Do this, do that, until you're dead on your feet,
Surprise! You lose. It's way more fun when you cheat.
Track Name: We Film The Champs Elysees (Live)
Get up! Wake up! We need you alive.
Head on the track. Mind on the point, no use for a life.
Brake out, fake it. It doesn't make it right.
We go around Stare out the sun enhancing the stride.

Change! Change! Yeah that's what you say.
Spare change all that's left of the day, now.

Extern! Return! We know where we lie.
Kicked out the lights Crossed out their wombs and the spelling will die.
Temple & Repeat our ambition on ice.
Elliptic flow Charts out the fate with a play of the dice.

Change! Change! Yeah that's what you say.
Spare change all that's left of the day, now.

We! Film! The Champs Elysees.
The avenue towards the end of our lives.
Track Name: Creepy Lounge (Live)
Dressed up waiting for handsome,
Cleaned up pretty in blue,
The slow caress of a withered hand in a room without the view.
So pathetic and hideous,
It’s best to cover your eyes,
Keep it buried, keep it very well hidden, keep it out of sight.

Degrade, defile and desecrate,
An undertaking so captivating,
Who knows where that’s been?

Strung out waiting for useless,
Busy climbing the walls,
Taste the smell of one with halitosis, giving it your all.
Exotic hues over crusted eyelids,
Glossing over cracked lips,
The woeful end to an appalling day, the secret’s all in the hips.

Entrance, excite and entertain,
Generous thrusting, so very disgusting,
Who knows where to look?

Busy waiting for nothing,
A rotting pile of meat,
Killing time in an endless daydream,
Comatosed upon soiled sheets.

Repulse, recline and regurgitate,
Persist, provoke and persecute,
Secrete, salivate and solidify,
Losing composure from over-exposure,
Who knows where the hell that’s been?