Bad Shit

It's Bad Shit. What Can I Say. I Mean. We Skate. That's How We Met, That's How We Live, That's What We Do. We Know Little About Music We Play Music For, And About Our Friends. Why Do You Play? Our Shit Is Short And Sour And To The Point. No Five Minute Guitar Solos. No Epic Feelings Of Triumph. Just Three Regular Footers That Put The Pieces Together Long Enough To Give You A Taste Of What Life Is Like To Us. GUITAR- Ground Chuck. Chuck Is One Hell Of A Noodler. No Shit. Solos That Have Never Been Created, Nor Repeated. When You Hear One, Take It To Antiques Road Show Because It's One Of A Kind BASS- T-Bird. The Thick String Rhythm Sects Rumbling and Screaming Could Keep Even The Army Of Darkness At Bay. Shop Smart, Shop S-Mart. DRUMS- Trixie Con Leche. When Not In Her Native Florida, Eating Xenadrine And Fighting In Ybor, She Smashes The Skins For Us. Her Thunderous Out Of Control Style Inspires Even The Most Troubled Tweeny Boppers Straight To Juvenile Hall. She Has An Avid Fan Club At San Quentins Federal Correction Facility, With Richard Ramirez As President, And Scott Peterson As Second In Command. In The End, We Don't Want Money, We Don't Want Fame. We Know Alot Of People Out There That Want To Have A Good Time. Our Friends. If You Don't Know Us And Want To Know What We Think Of This Failure Of A Civilization Is; Listen To The Music. B.S.S.F.