From the recording Murder Mountain


No one really gives a damn what we do on Murder Mountain
No cops, no Feds to cannibalize this war
Isolated in our national troubles
Like the kills notched on my M1 Garand

Hallowed ground is feuding with the bankers
Drivin’ for a lewd awakening
I’ll sit and think about the restless times we had
Extinguish this misplaced rage with an eight ball and a homely girl

Lit the royal fire in the damp and meaty forest
Tryin’ to conceal the baptism with the scent
Hypnotic tattoos and the ocean grown kush
And she’s asking, Is the green rush really dead?