![]() ![]() Between the party anthem “Goddamn” and the hard-charging, tiger-broke-out-of-the-cage outro on “T-Virus,” there’s plenty for balls-out rawk for fans to get behind, as long as they’re not interested in topical nuance. And while the lyrics of “Bad Dreams” will likely make women cringe and rage, it starts in this ringing jungle of bass and guitar jangle before locking into a smoky groove –– it’s hard to deny the elemental rock power of that. If you’ve ever imagined Sabbath playing soul music, that’s sorta what this sounds like. In fact, opener “Hand Cannon” rides this growly, fuzzed-out bass line into hard R&B territory, sort of like what you’d expect from UK band The Heavy. If that sounds unreasonably snarky, my response is “Hey, I’m not saying that ‘Talk Dirty to Me’ isn’t an enjoyable song.’ ” Nor am I saying that Bomb Quixote is not an enjoyable band. But, yeah, even though Bomb Quixote sounds like a distant relative of Soundgarden, the Fort Worth quartet also carries some of the rock-DNA found on the Sunset Strip circa 1987. I’m not saying that to be a jerk, but on three tracks, the band deals with the discord of romantic entanglements, and the last of these, “Bad Dreams,” tells of a hook-up: “Me and you in the public view was never something I was ever looking forward to / You’ll never be with me.”ĭoesn’t a song about blowing off some poor side girl sound like the sort of lyrical corn picked and shucked by a band like Poison? I’d be lying if I said I hated Poison (and Ratt and Mötley Crüe), and other than a certain on-the-nose/girls-are-mean-except-when-they-bang-me-and-as-long-as-they-don’t-expect-a-call-again lyrical bent, the hair-metal similarities end. To me, it’s the psych- rawk equivalent of Open Up and Say … Ahh! But also, considering that it’s a collection of songs called Netflix & Chill, a just-past-contempo buzzphrase describing transparent appeals for Friday night blowjobs on the couch, psych- rawk is not an ostensibly guileless stay-at-home activity. While it has enough familiarity with garage-rock guitar tropes (oceans of reverb, the echoing click and clunk of some hollow or semi-hollow-body guitar), it’s still a kind of ’90s alt-rena rock –– it’s like drawing a picture of Thee Oh Sees over an Edgefest flyer. matter fact take a picture where my phone at.I’d call this stuff psych- rawk.while everybody screaming on the dance floor.Now gone and bust it open like a cantaloupe.look she going in she let her hair down.Lil n****s getting worked on the chair now.Every time we turn up mami make the ass pop.I make them slow down like my like my homie J-12.There's hella cakes moving fast like a bake sell.A n**** got old chips and they ain't stale.I'm all about my money b*tch you can't tell?.I meet a b*tch then introduce her to my dick first.later on you can show me how ya lips work.Now swing it on a n**** till ya hips hurt.Watch her twerk it while her partner hold her hands man.And I'll be in the middle of the party yelling.Now gone bust it open like a watermelon.And if a girl hating that's the sh*t I can't stand.And when she shake it watch a young n**** relax.Big black money, got a ? like three racks.When I f*cks them I just hit my brother D-Mac.In the party she be sweating out her hair bun.In the Bay I love a b*tch that keep her nails done.I love them thick but the skinny girls welcome. ![]() I'm only tripping on her when she got her back bent.I got a b*tch from out of state with a accent.Come ready shawty its gone be a long day.Black money come and f*ck with us the long way ,. ![]()
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