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SG​/​SF

by FUULS

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1.
What do you think I borrow? You’re playing out salvation like a game show. Get the bag, get the bride- I’m getting out. Pharisaic shit, christ on a stick, marchin round and round till all the bombs blow. All the clouds roll back for any life on mars. I heard an “Amen” out of the playpen. All the worlds a stage when you’re an actor. Hey Man, Whats your problem? “I can’t stop thinking bout I can’t stop thinking bout…” Hell No! We put the right price on your soul. You’re gonna march out on the world. You’re gonna burn down what you pearl. Pray the gay away during the potluck. Fight the war on Christmas in a Starbucks. God, It’s kinda cute the way you persecute, then load your thoughts and prayers into a shotgun. What I fail to understand is how all of you goddamn clergymen punch down on everybody who don’t take kindly you doin’ to them what you did to the son of man. “Amen” said the klansmen. All the worlds a stage fire practice. Hey Man, Whats your problem? “I can’t stop thinking bout I can’t stop thinking bout…” Hell No! That itchy price set on your bones will make you pay for whatcha done. You’re gonna pay back everyone. The dead in christ will rise from under the floors of boarding schools and reservation highways and set fire to the buildings mining murder across the land. Ya got rich pigging out on monied poor folks but we’ll turn black as night When we ghost dance you into your graves. Congratulations. You’ve won a trip to a luxury crusade.
2.
Sissy Fist 03:22
Blessed are the girls and the tell-tale whores. Your rotten bodies still bang under the floor Spit at all the statues that stole the land, the grief, the garden, the gold. They’re clutching pearls; like we’re loaded guns moaning out warm poison on a lover’s tongues; Cocking back a black book in the name of Christ, You can call me the devil, Just don’t call me your son. All of my powers break the hold on the pleasure soured. What’s there to say? Don’t laugh- Fight to breathe. Raise your sissy fist. Let ‘em know not to mess with the queen bitch. Pour whines in your honey’s mouth. It takes color to scream and shout. All power to the lips that pout. The dolls, the dykes the fags, the proud. No peace. No poetry. No liberation where you won’t bleed. Bomb the profits, eat the riches. All the mockers leave in stitches. Women don’t sweat they glisten with truth. Queer as gravity's rainbow coloring youth. She’s stomping police! A sharpened stiletto; she’ll do as she please cause WAR IS YOURS THE REST IS OURS What’s there to say? Don’t laugh- Fight to breathe. Raise your sissy fist. Let ‘em know not to mess with the queen bitch.

credits

released April 5, 2023

Written by FUULS
Performed, mixed, and engineered by Ash Nataanii.

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FUULS Missoula, montana

DECOLONIAL PUNK

ASH-AARON
ROB-NICK

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