Thrash N Splash CS, by Spewtilator

Thrash N Splash CS

by Spewtilator

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LeastSuccessfulHumanCannonball Dube of the Dead, puts thrash in your head. Favorite track: D.O.T.D..

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1.	Altar of Snackrifice 01:16	lyrics	buy track
Awaiting my order, destined to dine, here at KFC/Taco Bell. A figure in purple, an under-payed man, approaches the table where I dwell. I sit awaiting plastic spork in hand to slay the burritos he bring, starvation slaughtered by this ceremonial meal, I answer my stomach's command. Slathered in hot sauce, I close my eyes, foreseeing a most gnarly deuce, heavenly flavor masks brutality, a movement my bowels shall curse. Altar of snackrifice, curse of the stoned, consuming a feast from the 'Bell. Even as I eat it my intestines churn, soon my bathroom will smell.... enter to the realm of fourth meal.
2.	D.O.T.D. 02:59	lyrics	buy track
Deep in the woods, an unholy ritual, smoking a doob of the newly deceased. Doob of the dead, it fucked with their heads now a cannibal craving commands them to feast. Skin peeled away, blood starts to spray, guts are exhumed as the hunger consumes. A cannibal need compels them to feed, inhale the corspe weed, and now they are doomed. A dying man's wish, his final request, when I am dead smoke my ashes. Roll a fat doob of cremated remains with all of my friends. Smoke my ashes. Choke on the stench of this post-mortal spliff as it pummels your lungs. Smoke my ashes. You took a hit, now a blood thirsty cannibal is what you've become. Smoke my ashes. You should not have smoked the doob of the dead. Powerless to resist it's infernal command. Millions of voices scream in your mind. Eat them alive. Blood and guts, stuff your face with intestines, a righteous snack, but it won't stop the hunger of this munchy attack. Torn limb from limb, a feast found within, face full of gore yet you hunger for more of this gruesome buffet, all-you-can-slay, who knew something so rad would turn out so lame. A dying man's wish, his final request, when I am dead smoke my ashes. Roll a fat doob of cremated remains with all of my friends. Smoke my ashes. Choke on the stench of this post-mortal spliff as it pummels your lungs. Smoke my ashes. You took a hit, now a blood thirsty cannibal is what you've become. Smoke my ashes. You should not have smoked the doob of the dead. Powerless to resist it's infernal command. Lucifer's voice screams in your mind. Eat them alive.
3.	Bong of Death 02:20	lyrics	buy track
Forged in the fires of hell, a bong no head shop would sell, given to us by satan himself, posers' and wimps' faces will melt. Bong of Death. Lung blasting beast from beyond. Bong of Death. Your mind mutated by the nuclear ganj. Bong of Death. Headbang in horror from the hella sick high. Bong of Death. No one will survive. Rooms filled with toxic smoke, posers vomit as they choke, eyeballs melting into goo, guts eject, intestines spew. Now the party has begun, everybody's having fun, vomit spraying everywhere, you think it's gross but we don't care.
4.	Cut the Shit 01:12	lyrics	buy track
What a fucking douche bag, hair in the way you can't see shit, karate chop and round house kick, if your name ain't Norris fucking quit. Kicked my beer to outer space, now I'm going to crush your face, no longer will I watch my back for your careless kung fu attack. Exterminate the flock, Daniel-son can take a walk, karate kid don't belong in the pit, fuck that shit. You look like an idiot, can't tell if that's a dude or chick, karate kid don't belong in the pit, fuck that shit, ninja turtles stay at home this ain't no fucking technodrome, don't need bruce lee or double dragon, the foe that you combat is imagined, just bang your head and circle pit and cut the shit. Overdose on pcp, crash your car into a tree, slit your wrists, cut out your eyes, don't live fast just die.

about

The Reaper's Grave Records - TRG 003 - 100 cassettes on clear shells
Recorded, Mixed, and Mastered by Josh Freemon at Dead Sound Studio
Artwork by Matt "Slime" Ferri

credits

released August 1, 2008

Chris - Drums
Rafay - Guitar
Ryan - Bass / Vocals

license

about

Spewtilator Atlanta, Georgia

Smoked out, beer soaked headbangers belching burrito death breath since '07. No politics, no retro bullshit, just gore-drenched worship of the fastest riffs.