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by White Skunk

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about

Check out the video for Hex Wax: youtu.be/SFpvo8YKE1g

credits

released November 17, 2016

White Skunk is:
Scott Homiak - vocals, noise, keys, drums
Mike Lebovitz - bass, noise, drums, keys, vocals

*noise = [guitar, trumpet, stylophone, kazoo, percussion, programming, water bill, baby monitor, et al.]

with:
Morgan Pinkstone - backing vocals on Hex Wax, No Encores and Cattle Feed
Ken Germanovich - guitar on No Encores
Marcelyn Lebovitz and Patrick Sexton - hand claps on Hex Wax

Cover art: Dan Yowell

Thanks to: Julie Todd, Jill Carlyn Homiak, Benjamin Trauger, Jonathan Aravich, The Seam Team & Mariella Klinger, Gregg Shapiro, Dustin Packard, Sean McSean, Kelly Aileen, Ben Lebovitz, and John Waters and Danny Mills (with humility). Special thanks to Morgan for her feminine intuition (check out her fantastic solo record, Swimmer).

Recorded and assembled by Mike at Hygienic Studios (Portable), summer 2016.

Mastered by Mike Murphy, fall 2016.

All songs written by White Skunk, except for the obvious one.

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

White Skunk Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

We stink.

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Track Name: Bad Gets Worse
Found a body in the water.
There oughta be some questions
about swimming alone at night
and weird drugs in the system.

You got a problem?
Find a bigger one.
I heard they’re charging double rates on suicide these days.
Track Name: Mahjong
Gramma Nazi watchin’ Lassie, Matlock is next.
Mahjong at 4:00, show you the door to new German kicks.
Get in from the ground floor, honey.
Get your autograph for the staties tonight.
Chuck, you better cut and run, it’s undone,
had your fun, got no one to waylay.

Grandpa patsy, swam the Dead Sea, salt to dispense.
Spat on the floor, roped up the Moors for Jew merchant chicks.
Mitch, you’d better up and done, prints and gun,
can’t get none set to stun, unversed in cum but willing.
Get in from the ground floor, honey.
Set your phonograph to the ‘80s tonight.
Track Name: Kipling's Women
Drip bags and months of cola
left us out in the rain and thin.
Please us the ashtrays.
Pass us the mustard gas.
Give up the address.
Please us the ashtrays.
Track Name: Titleist
Bobcat in the streets, tarantula in the sheets
and in the skies.
All the pygmies fly Southwestern airlines.
Terror times itself is terror times.

Babe, we’re outta Dew.
Babe, I said we’re outta Dew.
Babe, looks like we’re fuckin’ almost out of Mountain Dew.

Bobcat in the streets.
Tarantella on the beach and in disguise.
Terror times itself is
terror times itself is
terror time.
Track Name: Hex Wax
Unload bullshit baggage cues,
once coupled two timed Navy blues,
three iterations of the flu laid their dues from me to you.
This mix is a hex.
This forecast a bad representation.
This mix, it’s a hex.

Cuckolded by back issues,
the bold embrace of grays and booze.
Interpolations of bad news
have dressed their doom in slacks and shoes.
This mix is a hex.
This forecast a bad representation.
This mix is a hex.

Hex Wax America saved my life.
Hex Wax America.
Hex Wax, a miracle, saved my life.
Hex Wax, a miracle,
forecast a bad representation.

The past might forgive. It might, might forgive.
But it won’t forget.

Rx waxed prophetical saved my life.
Sex (parenthetical), get a life.
This mix is a hex.
This forecast.
Track Name: No Encores
My friendly neighborhood bartender said
that all of your friends would end up married or dead.
Runnin’ circles ‘round those rings keepin’ nuptials down.
Another shot of alimony when your liver’s not around.

My favorite ATM register said
that all of these funds only exist in my head.
You’re writin’ circles for those things keepin’ your brains off the ground.
Guilt by assassination when The Gipper comes to town.
Then they all drowned in the Puget Sound.

And when I get my hands on him there will be no more throat for clearing.

A friendly neighborhood bartender said,
“All of your friends will end up married or dead.
They’re runnin’ circles ‘round those retinae keepin’ solid food down.
Another hat for acrimony when the other’s not around.
And then they drowned in the Puget Sound”.
Then they all drowned in the Puget Sound.
Then they drowned in the Puget Sound.
Track Name: Cattle Feed
How many hands does it take to glide the coughed in insides of one county coffer?
Tell me again, divided and subprime, does it count if lives happened before they mattered?

Feed, feed
the Nazarene.

Pseudofuck-up Junkie Johnny Thunders comin’,
cleanin’ out twice removed sister’s lovers empty.
Pseudofuck-up Junkie Johnny Thunders comin’,
cleanin’ out your mothers.
Comin’, cleanin’ out your empty house.

Tell me again, divided, subprime, does it count if lives happened before they mattered?
Track Name: Harp For The Late
I think it’s time that you and I unrevived.