Sorta is the Best We're Doin

by Cattle Drums

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about

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released February 1, 2016

Sam Judd - Vocals
Matt Payton - Drums
Darin Gregory - Bass
Chris Cicoria - Guitar
Gulab Singh - Guitar

Recorded by Mike Natoli at DickButt Studios in Oneonta and Suffern, NY.
Mastered by Steve Sopchak at The Square Studio in Syracuse, NY.

Artwork by Sam Judd and David Bullock.

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Cattle Drums Oneonta, New York

three white guys and the wrong kind of indian.

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Track Name: Camp Cattle
Yeah it's these two sick incisors insisting on stealing loose nuts and bolts to build a boy without feelings or enough gas to get to the moon. I saw spite and not a reflection of You. So get up and light up those pallets under your bed, so that victims of yours will feel less relief when you are dead and gone. If boys are from mars, then I've done nothing wrong.
Track Name: The Splinter Sound
Can caskets do back flips, laugh, clap, crack in half hatchets, immolate the earth that keeps victory hopeless for you? A bucket of rockets saves my pockets. Better assess your pain, than appease yourself now, and get your feet up off burnt and burning ground. I'll be swinging with a bat that got a life struck out. Breakthrough, I gotta break this skull and drain it, but I'm one hard headed beast. Creeping up on ghosts to haunt at my best. Saving cash on guns. The bullets live inside me. Bullfights with a bright side. Gored and loving it. Buy one get one. I'll see to it that I lose a quart of blood. Rickety features defiled by the lying cops, and cops are cutting deals with the judge. I've got fidgety fingers finagled into fighting anything that'll fight back. I bet this is what anybody in a pickle would want to clarify- "When you're winning, save the pickle." Well aren't you sick of failure after failure and shipwreck after shipwreck? There's victory but it's not in this world! Death loves our scent, loves our posture, and it's got more will than you got to live. So here I sit with a burned out candle and a box full of wet matches. I know who killed me all this time. Yeah all these leads they point to these hands of mine. But there is hope for you my friend, there is hope if you can see the end.
Track Name: Fire in a Tomb
Scrape your face off the stove top and breathe your nose burnt off. What about a payday? What about the day you’ll pay up? I’m cashing in my deliverance checks for wrecks and infections of my tiny little tomb. One way. One way out. Do doors swing when they’re nailed shut? Locked in tight. Keeping up with my bucket list is keeping me from living forever. Spit out that dud and beg for new meaning. The sword slays in patterns to save you, and to replace your name with "Death Proof." Spit out that dud. One less life lost. Yeah it’s a loss, like the very first pair of dinner skipping best friends. It’s a game found in a dark basement- You’re the agent, I’m the stab wound, the back bone to a vertebrate on his way out. Scrape your face off the stovetop and breathe your nose burnt off. I’m not the type of guy who leaves himself in one piece. Stuff it back in. I got to get this blood off my hands and back into these veins again. Break this bat over my head and call it good and call it division. I’m not so good at addition unless it’s adding on all the waste that subtracts from my life. When the garbage is overflowing and every head looks like a lid a light comes on above my head but not even long enough to catch a moth’s attention. And I bet you’ll never know how much I’m drying out. And I’m killing what I debate for. Forget about the petty plans you're slave to, kick it and let go. My God! I need a kick in my head! Keep sticking your hands into lawn mowers. Mulch hands make the best hands. Leave it to me, I’ll leave my hands in the leaves. Rake em up. When the garbage is overflowing and every head looks like a lid a light comes on above my head but not even long enough to catch a moth’s attention. And I’m waiting on hanging the spider who’s eating my eye. Why wait? Well, your guess is as good as mine.
Track Name: Daydreaming About Your Head Bleeding
I’m just like ash. Coals have got one on me. Always supposed I’d grow to glow again with just some claps and headstands. Death tells all. Death tells all. So let’s get life! Let’s get it! It’s too cold for what you’re doing- treading water through these winters. Frozen flesh thawed and fried. How’s your death cooking? Naked, sifting the sky in search of clouds with good old history, free from me and my breath. So I’ll parachute myself into an eighteen wheeler windshield doing sixty- Now that’s history I would repeat if I survived the first hit. I got to go. I’ve been burning plastic since lucid dreaming was an option. My friend are you headed west? Hop in already. Don’t mind the passports or open that glove box. It’s filled with thumbs. There’s a man in my attic. He talks the talk without walking a step. There’s a man in my attic. He talks peace then leaves open manholes for you to fall in, for me to crawl into. I’m not caving in as much as I’m checking out. The snake said to the fire ant, “Bite hard and burn all you can!” This is where my art goes. Into killing you. The hearses here, they drive themselves. Zero to sixty in a heartbeat. Heart of a taxi. Loves hitch hikers. You’re the sinkhole. Lets start sinking! There’s a man in my attic. He talks the talk without walking a step. There’s a man in my attic and he’s headbutting nails. I’ll be burning plastic till the ceiling and my lungs both burn a bitter blackness and healing is just a fantasy. Get out the phone books and look up your favorite butcher. Ask him to give you a trim. Tell him to “Treat me like you would those filthy pigs. I am lean.” Treasured fracture. Why I live in a hell projected history of boys you’ll see crying their lights out begging for life I don’t know. This has been such a needed God sent dead end (but I am my own murderer, a cadaverous road worker, and blacktop spews alongside my words) Death perception landmarks and a read only word driven into skin. If you're blind. If your eyes are working but working overtime for yourself then you better catch a cab and catch another until you step out and watch the old man roll away.
Track Name: Whistling Past the Cemetary
Whistling past the cemetery, planning on a next move to call it a day without moving in here. Mamma do I got a case of that casket fate? “You got a date with death, it’s your first and last, it’s love.” I gotta break this pocket picking deceiver with my own hands. It's true, yeah, I’m a sucker for disappointment, I’m that spontaneous bruise. And If you don’t think that death’s a good influence, you're a light bulb in a blackout and I’ll be praying for you...and me. Here we go. Show me your bravest cop and I’ll show you my favorite pair of matching lead pipes. Anticipating your meaningful beating. Bit off his face judge? That’s just me teething. Fat chance catapult at flinging me into something good. With an attitude like a cat frozen in a snow bank. I’ll be dead with the bagpipes all playing songs I’ve never heard and never will. You’ve wounded me, but not today! You’re here for you, not here for us, but I got to get rid of this hate before it locks me up. Listen, I should be missing out on battle for the Captain, because metal grinding metal doesn’t soften the punctuation.
Track Name: A Street Shark Named 'Desire'
Yeah I’m feeling sick, sick of hiding and filing my face to fit flat on the black top so kids on bikes and scooters can make backwash. Wet cement and railroad tracks. Go ahead and pack your bags, we’re going underwater. Ransacked by hollow bones. I’ll float before I fly. Can you believe it? I’m the meanest fetus, eating your bird seed and feeding you flies. All I’ve got is nails, while you’ve got knives, but where's your hands? Make the maggots take a bath, take their pride and pry their chest open. I’m calling your coffin to tell her you’ll be coughing up your last breath and coming home soon. Saving up edges of tables for infants to fall on. Is that wrong? Yeah. Your fad's gonna burn. Fighting off bees, slowly leading the blind with eyes married to stingers. Lynch mobs want blood and these noose bearers will be frozen in their tracks, tied to poles, and used as dart boards upon their last breath. Whatever better keeps the heart from speaking out, from speaking up. Oh when solitude puts images of witches in my head, I caught buzzard after buzzard breaking bottles on my bed.
Track Name: Snowman Won't Melt
I’m a river drowning on a beach all to myself and I can’t get a break, no I can’t. If the doctor calls for a scalpel, I”ll eat it. And since pliers worked before, maybe I'll pluck out my pupils, they’re too big. Let’s see some sunlight and expose some shadows! Let’s break the ice with some sunlight! There’s a snowman under par and he’s seen better days. He’s seen better months than March or April but he’s not losing steam, snowman won’t melt. While every dog on this block makes a perfect example of a man with no legs to run or practice swinging twig fists, he’ll still go in swinging. If you can’t see I’m enlightened stuffing road flares into these stubborn sockets. It’s a casket audition. I’m seeing great now with my eyes gone. I can’t get enough of bloody nightmares. It’s the conscious cutting, the house fire’s keeping me up, that keeps me cold. Blame the countless thumbs that flipped pennies on their heads. Tails will find a new way to tuck. My brother taught the tame rule, “No table scraps in bed.” Tails will find a new way to tuck. Well is that enough? Now that the part of your lungs that works is spent up only speaking words that won't get you anywhere but dead. Brittle bridge to a brittle future. Now I can really see my tombstone- “Little man who fought to be fighting.” “Well I can taste you in this dish to pass,” Says the devil. It’s a blackboard teaching and I’m sitting in the back, all on my own free will. Drag the bag out of the water, look inside it, find tomorrow. Jealous of your future thunder. If I get my cat out of the gutter. I’ll go indiscreetly. This is the end.
Track Name: Skytop Path
Pick up slack today loosely. Get out my sheath of a glove and let my nails do some sleeping in, some lifetime hibernation. Reinvent your knives to cut through cutting boards, and chain mail, and vocal chords that cut through reason, loyalty, insignificant casualties. And right about now I feel like death. If I’d been seeking You I’d be checking out of hospitals and into clinics to shine some shoes. Daybreak means nothing to me. If I had been a friend to you I would have just been doing my job. Reinvent your knives to cut through cutting boards, and chain mail, and vocal chords that cut through. You want to bet that nothing changes when hurricanes remove our faces? Get out my sheath of a glove and let my nails do some sleeping in, something they haven’t done in a long time. Removing dead skin from under dead skin is a pastime we people pride ourselves in. This is not good for you or me but we keep on digging. Dig up all the bird gut forts, all the worms inside will see to it that you get fed, but that you quit ingesting roadkill. Dig up all the bird gut forts, all the worms inside will see to it that you get fed, that you dissect your head and the rest of you, and find that heart replacement. You crucified yourself in the morning. No metal, not a nail or screw was used. A self inflicted sentence to death. I’m the guillotine starving for some down time. The axe, the stump, the neck- I’ll supply it all, I’ll supply it. Bury me deep I found a way out! Man’s most ancient Vessel, make me a voyager. I want the mouth of a sailor who’s sails feed off the breeze from Your breath. Dust off, dust the dirt from a dead end life off your shoes! Yeah! Get out my sheathe of a glove and let my nails do some sleeping in. Level my heart, my soul, my day's worth. I gave up honest sleep. I saw the finish line, I retreated. Smoke clears, I'm back at it.
Track Name: Waking up Blindfolded
Are you daydreaming about sleeping, because today's got nothing to offer you? Because I am. Are you waking up blindfolded again, having to tap your foot on the floor to be sure that you made it through the night? Feel's like coals doesn't it?
Track Name: The Beautiful Life Ahead
I'm throwing chairs and you're assisting me. I'm out for blood and apparently it's my own, but I can take it. I want to be the vice that holds up my head when the sky plots against me and the thunder yells "You're dying," but I know I won't make it. Like a fire alarm found in a burned down house, I still scream for you, I still scream for you, hoping you'll get it. Because there's a cat outside my window and it's stuck in a tree. It's been dead for 23 years but still every morning looks at me and says, "We came here to die." Your mother and your father and the blind boy out in the street, the drunken school bus driver, and the faces they'll never see. We came here to die. Just look at every face around you and watch them start to peel. I'm talking walking right off their skull into a box with no time to kill, just themselves, and your face aint' safe from nothing. It was just yesterday I saw a body floating down the river with no choice but to deliver me a message while catching a wave and it read, "We came here to die."
Track Name: I'm Glad I Cut off My Legs
The devil's looking for cats with claws too small to be seen by the dotted eye but just big enough to cut you blind. Something fabric, soaking up stagnant angst in a puddle of blood. I got the fists of a man with crippled hands and rings that cut the nerves. I caught a fly reclining on a fly swatter and I found it rather funny that I got a kick out of laughing at something that lives its life just like me. I got to fight feeling like tomorrow’s going to be something I’m doing. Death walks towards me without a limp in his step. Death walks towards me! The more rings in a tree gives more meaning to paper thin in reference to you, and the composite board of a body you own, the numeric pain of a niner you hone. A hard earned check all spent on tombstones. Left alone in swamps my memories prune, and marinate in snake venom, but not to cause you pain, venom so that I know your touch, and avoid that time portal fiasco. Don’t you want to kill them all? Bite the face right off today? Damn the force of heartless nature. I’ll be in tune or in hell soon. I bet you’ve crossed paths with ancient bastards screaming "Hit me I'm the fastest man to pull a trigger in this small town." I’m not ready for another mindless endeavor, whichever the weather of dead men pollute the most. A backpack full of setbacks is killing my mileage! Death walks towards me without a limp in it's step, so lets walk towards it with some feeling! Cut out the parts that heal. Open me up. Bed bugs breaking my back. I'm a full time bloody survivor. Day sleeper, sleep it away. Run back to Dad and pull out your weapons.
Track Name: Hot Summer Shadow
Can't keep my head up, no, I mean I can barely keep this thing a guillotine virgin. Can't keep my back straight, can't walk a straight line, but I know I'll probably just regret it in the end. This song goes out to every cab driver waiting on a ride home. This song goes out to every cop who turned themselves in without a warrant. Well I’ve been taking up every spot in line at the “Annual Bashing in of Heads” for the last three years and as long as this neck stays a connector not an end piece, I’ll stay committed. Keep me covered in gasoline. I'm not waking up. Waking up tongue tied, tie dyed a little. Dad is murder the middle child inside this police taped brain? Kill me baby. Make me cry a riddle. Little did I know that when you said, “Go, kill,” You spelled out my name with your finger. You put a pistol in my whistle and I blew it. Buy me some coke to cut with gunpowder so I can shoot louder. It’s like I’m digging graves to find change. Dead deer cry for me because they’ve seen the front of a tractor trailer at sixty, and they know that I am much worse off in death. Whoa! I found the better part of myself but he’s on the run, he’s motivated to find the nearest chainsaw to run himself through. Call it a good deed to a lover. Butter the best of my bones and better yourself, better your soup. If your hands are free and you’re looking for something to do, burn the devil. Let’s burn him! Conjoined at both the horns with a demon much older than myself. We walked to church, we sat in the pews and put my Bible to bed. See I’m a sick man and hope is medicine, but hope is not the antidote no! Hope is a crutch and a bottle of pain relievers then pain retrievers. Its not the antidote. It’s truth that is! It’s time I built a pack of pews in my head. It’s not hard to believe in truth when the proof is your breath, but it’s hard to look at a bullet and not want it inside your brain. It’s not hard to whistle the devil’s tune when you’re born with it stuck in your head. The truth is plain, you’re better belittled today. You’re just your own mind reader, your own heat seeking missile.
Track Name: Thank You for Choosing the Blood Red Van
Failure runs to me and I leap towards it without a thought and when I’m thinking I’m stalling. Begging my backbone to find an alignment crime. In my spine there’s black mold. Heaven will deny you and your fondest memories, the finer moments that teased you. The sun is up and I’m wasting no time at all taking orders from a dead man content with his train wreck to build that casket faster. I like blood, bleed blood, eat blood too much. Bleach can erase my savage attacks but it just burns these guts. It’s that time of month again where I’m sipping on babies blood and packing needy eyes with dead Polaroid captives that I pull out to keep me laughing at my stupid defective life. I must part with you. I must part with you. Yeah! I’ve got a better plan now! Renew! Renew! Remove your scalp, unhinge your skull, shovel out coal. Crash though the windshield with your sunroof head and let the clean air fill you up, it’s there to keep you alive. Now find the rest of your head, find some glue, and keep it together, secure what you’ve gained man. Quickly kill the man, the one with the death neglecting lifestyle, the one who lives for himself knowingly and carries on. I’ve got an undisclosed time to maim the murderer. I’ve got an undisclosed time to forfeit entirely. Urgency, such an important word put to shame by me. So many selfish people taking everything beautiful and turning it into something evil. Leave it to one of us, leave it to me, I’ll take the sunshine and I’ll make it bleed. I’m the best part of waking up and I’m not ashamed of spending inheritance from ancestors on filth. I sell my soul for torment everyday. Yes I reside in rendering barrels. I hope soon that I find something more sterile to sleep in. I don’t break for stop signs, no wonder I feel impounded. Me? Refuse to take the passenger seat after numerous run-ins with near death? Sounds like me. I sing a junkyard rabid cadence. I need daily morbid maintenance. I hope for the better of you and I hope for the life of me that we begin dressing for the weather and choose accordingly shoes for kicking through minefields, shoes for kicking down doors daily. Mail me to the heavens! I’m a sucker for these cycles of care, no care. Work for payoff, waste on garbage. Eat my greens then suck down black top. I pray for mercy then commit arson of a promise. Weak words burn quick but second to you.
Track Name: Fattest Kid in the World Fights Grandma for Front Seat
I am the barely operating portion of this orphan fist fight. The kites in the tree again, good thing I tied chainsaws to it. The ones who know the words but bite their tongues like pitbulls do children, you're the murderers, and I'm a murderer, and I've been a murderer since I was born. And now I'll commit myself to train tracks with wet cement. Well don't you want to speak in voices more than soundbites? Don't you want to be the voice that says "I'm free!" Don't you want to hang from clouds but not hang yourself? Oh, I'm a little bit of You but I'm a whole lot of me. Sick of fitting in with killers. Sick of filling in for surgeons when the emergency is me. Kids, someday you’ll be buried in what you’re digging, but there’s one final breath you can have it if you want it. Like blowing dust off an old toy, we’ll blow these lids off our coffins! My pants are rolled up so I can wade in your blood. And I'll let you run, but I won't let you get that far. Who cocked the gun with the canopy aching? Who cocked the gun in an edible hurricane? I'll stand on a cardboard stump and lose the attitude. Give up on strengthening your shadow when the light is on your neck. Give up on yourself, give into newness of life. Teething on ornaments or a kiss? Living long enough to see your blood quench thirst. Bid on dead eels, what a pain in my neck, so we can swim all night. Black bears love to sleep, and live. Black bears dead in pickup trucks with hiccups. There wasn't much we could do with the pair of paws we carved out from history. The pallets were stacked too high and you just burned like a bonfire. Bodies are funny like that. Heave-ho. Buckshot in my left front pocket. It's moody, it's shifty, it's prouder than I'll ever be, and that's the thing with me and you I'm pushing sixty, you're just a bitter boy. And on that day, all the saws carved deep. I'll do the driving. Back that truck into the back of my head. I'll do the driving.
Track Name: Death is for Everybody
Yeah what about summer? Not all my biggest fears sink with me. Most just settle under endless mounds of muscle. It's our time to kill, to put to sleep the conductor who derails for dangerous taste. "It's a dangerous place so lets keep it consistent." Why not? Well I have been and ought to be eating cat food out of tin cans. Well I have been and ought to be wishing I would fix this. Yeah I got my rabies shot the other day, and we're moving forward, we're moving closer to a foam free mouth. And if it gets to you that you're living without a vision, better start fishing with lures more practical than your front teeth. If not you're just a sinking raindrop evaporating before you've done anybody any good. Aint' it rotten enough you live out of a coffin? Aint' it rotten enough so bloody so often? We're all bloody and we know it. We're all rotting and still careless. We're all filling up our own tanks with a thousand shot gun barrels and were striking a match, and tossing it in. We blame our discontent on the world, so we can keep living without changing. Yeah there's a crunch for every step that I take and there's a coffin floating up to the surface of that lake. It looks so easy. Maybe I'll throw myself into it. You're just like me aren't you? Sitting on clearance. You got your own little spot and you're waiting to be taken away or tossed, at any cost. Yeah there's a target and I'm walking straight into it. Not sure if anybody's shooting but if they are make it a rocket because I've exhausted all my abilities and my breaths.