Toilet Kids Bread

by F.Y.P.

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credits

released January 1, 2007

Recorded Jan. 16-18, 29th 1996 at HOS Studio in Redwood City, CA
Produced by Blag Dahlia for All Good
Engineered by Eric Dodd

Layout & artwork & all songs except Raw Potere written by Todd Congelliere

Todd = vocals / guitar
Sean = drums
Jed = bass

Many children get hurt running directly into a glass door: they think it is an open space.

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Läjä Rex Vila Velha, Brazil

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Track Name: Heathen Like Me
You were born and then you're sworn
without a say til it's goodbye.
Like a cast made years before your time,
your informally baptized.
With benz-o-cain on your brain,
choose mediocrity.
You're forced to eat without a peep,
let every tongue adore thee.
And I won't ditch skool, cos me no fool.
No heaven for a heathen like me.
A mere mortal and yet opaque,
your literature reads fake.
For someone dead and astray
your redeemer sure does take.
Abide with me, contrary from
immortality. And when ya sober up
and took enough, raise your hymn books steady.
Take it back, absorb my tract, cos I heathen
oh is the answer.
Here's the church, where's the steeple?
Open the door, see them people?
and I wonder what's come over me.
Your prized confession is my obsession for me.
In heaven, you're secured and granted rent free.
Track Name: Beat You With A Plunger
Hey, punk, surfer boy, circa '95,
here's our swan song just for you.
When our sound bends more towards the
Ronnettes, you'll know who the credit
goes to. Fuck your bullshit "posse"
that thinks if I don't like your band,
I deserve a cap in my ass. When the fact
of the matter is if you could read my mind,
then I'd be fucking dead. Amnesia.
You shit fuck, what a fucking waste.
The guitar lessons your mommy paid
when you're just glam rock with fists
and muscles, yet sensitive to what I have to say.
Shit on your platform comprised of no-brainer ties
of who you know, all lies. Repent...and you still
won't be spared. I'm off scott-free from your
illiteracy, so I'll claim amnesia.
And don't tell a friend that a friend's band sucks,
cos they won't be yo' friend no mo'.
Just sugar coat your sweet asses and have
a nice li'l pleasant day.
Track Name: All Grown Up
I don't need your games, I don't need your signs.
I don't need your ink blots to help you fix my mind.
I don't need your worthless, cheap advice
or your guilt trips on how I used to be nice.
All grown up, I'll throw up that logic anyway.
I don't need anyone to validate me.
I don't need your dough, I don't need your toys.
I don't need your girls that go for macho boys.
I don't need to walk home 5 miles to see the zero
on my answering machine smile.
I don't need your shrink, I don't need your psych
I don't need your Porsche, cos I got my own bike.
I don't need to wait til my teeth ache
to brush 'em regularly, once a week.
All grown up, I don't have to listen to what you have to say.
All grown up, and if you don't believe me, just ask
my mommy.
Track Name: Noxema
These pages reconfirm that you're better than me.
You're always 2 steps back, ahead of me.
Just an obsession to be a possession, unatainable
to us all. Silicone injected paper doll.
Can't chat with those who chose to play in my t.v.
There's a big difference between looks and beauty.
The t.v. people they all stick together while I get
left behind to chat about the weather. Their firm
handshakes scare the life outta me. The noxema girl
won't ever touch me. Do I like it? Am I the same?
Do I like her? Am I jealous again? And if they
picked me for their team, would I play??
Track Name: New York City
She went all that way to New York City,
to meet her boy's girlfriend--ain't she pretty?
To get caught off guard, and not know what to do.
He found someone to fill in her shoes.
She went all that way to meet someone who she thought
would make her feel complete.
And behind door #1 was someone who forgot her
and a 6 month pass to misery.
Never trust musicians as far as you can throw those bums,
especially singers. Just to watch her dance on MTV,
am I right or just correct? Now wait and see.
She just wanted to know he didn't even show to the
initiation to the broken hearts club in a city of despair.
Her welcome was as cozy as Lennon's.
Track Name: One Lump Or Two (Diane)
She's the type of girl that makes you want to
worship the ground her parents walk on. This wasn't
no traditional breeding on their behalf. I stay up
til 5am and wonder what position they were in. The
only problem now, is that they won't let me in.
Diane=guardian=dying.
I swear on your mother's grave, we'll be sippin' cokes today.
A reluctant effort to give up the art they made.
The only good protective parent is a dead one.
From a sweet revenge of the pappy's bastard son
Track Name: Apathy & Me
Take no advice from me. What do you want?
What everybody sees. The disappearing of my
conscience is a science I can see. And you can't
take that happy pill from me. I can't laugh and
I can't cry, I suppose one reason why.
From here on out, it's apathy and me.
Now that it's gone, I'm done. And I won't be
a shrink for anyone. Cos your problems just make me
nauseas, and they're sung redundantly.
and you can't take that song away from me.
Track Name: Audrea Lee
Don't they question why they go to school in trailers?
With no one but company for company. All locked up
in the cosmetic booth and if you don't believe it,
then just what happened to Audrea Lee? Spending
nights just with boob tube in digestion, scouting out
all their competition. All wishy washed controlled remotely
15 minutes guaranteed a future in television.
You used to be so cute with red pigtails and freckles,
but those freckles don't turn tricks presently.
Spending nites at the playground with no one in sight
around, you matured prematurely. And what happened to
Audrea Lee?
Track Name: Smartest Schmuck On Earth
I never promised to make sense,
I'm just a hypocrite, a hypocrite that
never contradicts myself at all.
I'll give advice, advice I never follow.
When you finally see the light it's full of pain
and sorrow. I'll make the rules for the fools,
I'll stick your heads in dirt. And that's ok
cos you just met the smartest schmuck on earth.
Just sweet revenge is all I really wanted.
We might not ever have met before.
Right place at the wrong time.
So go kill your mommy and go kill your dad.
Hell, kill yourself for all I care,
Just don't send me the check.
Track Name: Dispose Me
I'm your man, I live in a garbage can.
Smoking catnip I am. On the employees of
Uncle Sam. So take me out on only Wednesday,
I get the hint. Alone and stoopid in my can.
I got a whiff of your cheap trick.
Awaiting the garbage can.
Perfect fill of the land, etc.
Track Name: Piss On Rye
Your pain isn't much different than anyone else's,
you see? We've all been stranded and taken
for granted. So pleez oh geez don't take it out
on me. Your broken heart isn't more broken.
But to think so comes naturally. We've all been
used, mistreated, and abused, so pleez oh geez don't
take it out on me. Your complaining is completely
validatable. But I can't figure out just why you
think you're so dispicable. So ask yourself, was he
really worth it? To leave you stranded alone. It'll
all be over someday, so please don't run away.
So please oh geez just come back here to home. Don't
take another quaalude. Don't waste another whole day
to sleep. Though things seem scary, it's only temporary.
Track Name: Raw Potere
(a Raw Power song (Fuck Authority) that
appeared on the MRR comp. "Welcome to
1984". Not only was it thee best song,
it was probably thee best hardcores song
ever written. This showcases not only
my fluient Italian tongue, but also blags
eagerness to be a part of the Bay City Rollers.
Track Name: Hermit
I can't play with you any more.
I'm too busy hiding behind my deadlocked door.
If I can't get my way, at home I shall stay.
I'm a hermit, so let's all have a toast to me.
I sit and light cigarettes for 2,
and I forget that you live so far away.
So at home I shall stay.
I'm a hermit, finally coming clean.
Can't stand your scene.
I just hide me waiting for nothing.
Your parties are potent evidence.
It's elementary on my behalf of defense.
It don't seem like no Saturday Night Fever tonite.
So this is where I'll live and this is where I'll die.
Track Name: Sweetning Your Gas Tank
Don't like your bullshit, don't like your songs.
I don't wanna play with your band, don't wanna get along.
It's your fucking ass that drives me up the wall.
When a block of wood is more original.
You convinced myself that a cock-rock band can yell
"punk" and it sells. When you're the jocks
that beat me up in school, and now for some reason,
you consider me cool. And now it's the same
exact situation, I know it's time to go.
My animal instincts smell the jackass in the cafeteria
or at the show. But now I know. And if you go
then I won't be the same.
You play all around in this shitty town.
An equivalence to a circusized clown.
Your scene is shit and your complacent dum ass
don't have no car to go around.
Track Name: Drown A Metermaid
In a bottle of formalehyde or even in a
bottle of cisco!
Track Name: Die Young
I don't care for anything. I can't stand this anyway.
I'd live fast if it were fun. Am I old enough to die
young? I count one and I count two. I hope to hell
I don't see you. I'm waiting for these goddamn doors.
Transport, I gotta transport.
Hey mom and dad, don't shop at the universities.
Don't worry about the future or the matter of
succeeding. I'm not bluffing about how I don't wanna
live to be 34. But when I'm 40, I'll sing it once more.
The Brittle Boned boys march again. We'll validate
with cheap slogans and reminisce about being dum kids.
But then, of course, go sing it again.
Am I scared or just plain bored? I try things I wouldn't
before. My 10 foot pole got cut real short. And curi-
osity's not what for. Self destruct from apathy.
My domestic enemy. I'm sick of right, I'm sick of wrong.
Is this real or just a dum song?
Hey this is not the way I wanted things to be. This
is not my blueprint, just plan Z. To be naive to
recessitate. And dig a foot a week to get out of your
grave. Mouth to mouth, to taste behind. Pay no
mind to bankrupt minds. Ignore the stale noose around
your neck. I've got more respect for ripe slit wrists.
Pretentious gen x is all I see from you.
Kill what's dead, find something new.