The Fucking Tape

by Anthrot

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first release on cop grave records. you can get physical copies of the tape from us (loopthefeedback@gmail.com)

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released June 8, 2011

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Anthrot San Diego, California

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Track Name: Boxes
mundane routine set in stone. suit and tie affair with a bun in the oven. hopelessly stagnant in a socialized fixity. boxed in. financial stability. a white picket fence and a swelling tumor. upstanding citizen. accomplished success. boxed in. happily engulfed in the nine to five work day with manic depression and a pill addiction. work in a cubicle. get buried in a casket. you’re predestined to live and die in a fucking box.
Track Name: End Creation
the numbers are in. intelligent design is a fucking joke. no more debate. you need to shut your mouth and listen. there is no god. there never was. the rejection of clear reason by another kiss-ass fanatic. god fucked up when he put every one of you fucking zealots on this planet. "the whole thing is so patently infantile, so foreign to reality, that to anyone with a friendly attitude to humanity it is painful to think that the great majority of mortals will never be able to rise above this view of life" and make this scourge a footnote in history.
Track Name: All Cops Are Still Bastards
state hired dipshits throwing lives away to prison tanks. forcing compliance through subjection to intimidation. serve and protect the interests of a few while feeding the populace false promises of peace. fuck the police, their sympathizers and supporters and every agent of oppression that upholds their fascist order. no more straddling the fence. we’ve rid respect for you all. turn your guns around and fucking end yourselves. until the old adage loses relevance: all cops are fucking bastards.
Track Name: Blaming The Victims
open your fucking eyes. you are not innocent. the blood of sanctions and interventions is on your hands. but your amnesia trumps realities of conquest and it comes as no surprise how tight you cling on to this mantra: “they hate me for my freedom. they hate me for my christ.” no, they hate you for the war games that left their loved ones dead. america had it coming.
Track Name: Impending March Of The Zeta Reticulans
programmed. waiting. serving grey faces. nazca. landing. conquest unending. signals. numbers. forces compelling. unseen static. total depletion.
Track Name: Youth Attack!
wasted effort. useless words. boring politics. same old shit. been there. done that. i don’t give a fuck. no more rehashed rhetoric. no more hypersensitivity. no more watered down bullshit. no more pretending to care. no more. i just want to fuck shit up.
Track Name: On The Market
a message stolen and sold back to us. pre-packaged. safe and sterile. value disengaged. no worth. no soul. no anything. transformed into another fashion trend. co-opting ideals. prep’d for market. profiteering off of what was never yours. and the flock will follow. foundations will crumble. your pockets will get fatter. value disengaged. no worth. no soul. no anything. transformed into another normalcy.
Track Name: A Million Dead Jarheads
join now in the fight for conquest, for god and country, and to secure an honorary title as ‘murderer’ for the nation state. flag flown high and a death count to your name. another programmed assassin. another tool. another death. another tombstone erected to glorify a murderer. fuck you and your false notions of protection. no, i won’t take part. no, i won’t support. i don’t await your return home from the frontlines. i won’t shed a tear when you die.
Track Name: No Love For The Fucked Up
i will not bite my tongue while those who seek to preserve this disgusting culture cry out for sympathy, for tolerance. i reject the notion that we’re all in this together. tolerance is a fucking sham, a ploy to keep us quiet. there can be no unity in a world that craves division. so keep your enemies close. no love for the fucked up.