Dogs on Wheels

by Samuel Ampersand Matthew

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1.
02:27
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2.
02:49
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3.
01:05
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4.
02:30
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about

Sam and Matt met at Brooke Hughes' premiere art show at the ROTA Gallery. Carnivore played over the PA, and, over almond biscotti, they discussed how humbled they were by the radiant greatness of Carnivore and agreed to try and single-handedly break into the music scene so that they could fight it from the inside and get Carnivore played on the radio and in blockbuster movies more often. Hence the four shitty acoustic songs. Hence the dumbass hipster photos. We know we're not and will never be as good as Carnivore; stop sending us defamatory emails.

credits

released 15 June 2012
All songs written, produced and recorded by Samuel Ampersand Matthew unless noted otherwise.

tags

tags: diy plattsburgh pop acoustic folk New York

license

all rights reserved

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Track Name: Untitled G Sharp Song
Don't confuse me with words like "better", you can't compare these things at all.
It's gonna be hard for a while, it's gonna be a long, long winter.

Muted daylight coming in through glass, plastic and linen.
My body begged for sunlight, I didn't give in.
Crows the half of you, vultures the rest.
Picking at dead and dying things, secrets once held in flesh.

It's gonna be hard for a while, it's gonna be a long, long winter.
It's gonna be all those things you hoped you had escaped.
It's gonna be hard for a while.
Track Name: F.I.S.H. Song
Fish are things to have faith in.
Fish are things to have faith in, and so are rivers.

Sounds are things to have faith in, because they'll always happen, and singers take many forms.

Wildness will take you. One day it'll murder you, and everything will celebrate.
Leaves dance to your grave.
Track Name: Hey Stupid Guy
Hey there, stupid guy, idiot guy, not smart guy...
Hey there, moron-and-idiot guy! Hey there, moron, not smart guy...
Hey there, stupid guy. Hey there, moron and NOT SMART guy (x2)
Idiot guy, stupid guy, not smart guy, it's been a while.
Yeah, it's been a while. (x2)
Track Name: Ice Cream Song
I know you're going down.
You've had too much fun.
I hate your fucking scene, you cruel, psychotic cur.
And as your grove is dawning, I'll miss my fucking bus. I'll have had plans to go to Maine and see my good friend Huss.
Bloom will hate your book.
I foresaw it the moonbeams.
"Enthralling for a few reams," he'll write, "a circular plot this slight outstays its welcome before long."
You'll cry until the twilight, assuring yourself you're smart, when you're really a stupid neophyte.
And you think you have some gull.
You think you have some nerve, but you're really just a fucking piece of shit, and you never go away, and you never entertain the thought of giving people personal space. Well, neither do I.
I wish I could accuse you of being a hypocrite, but you'll one day kill yourself, and I'll just wait until I fucking die.