Break The Strings

Gritty punk-blues fusion with overdriven guitar riffs, distorted bullet-mic harmonica, raw soulful shouts, and a driving, stomping rhythm section, Fast tempos, smoky barroom energy, lo-fi edge, and swaggering attitude, Blues scales smashed into punk aggression, call-and-response guitar and harp, chaotic breakdowns, rebellious mood, sweat, distortion, and defiant storytelling

I got a six-pack heart and a blackout grin… I got a six-pack heart and a blackout grin, Runnin’ from the truth with a flask of sin. My boots keep draggin’ like a bad refrain, And my harp screams louder than a runaway train. Yeah, I’m beat-up, bruised up, wired on fumes, Still spittin’ out fire in these barroom tombs. ’Cause I got the punk blues, baby, I don’t bend, I break. Snappin’ every string I got, Just to feel awake. Yeah, the punk blues bite harder Than any debt I owe, Kickin’ down the doors of heaven With a twenty-dollar show. Got holes in my jacket, holes in my soul, Holes in the stories that the bartenders stole. I play my harp like a habit with a busted tooth, Spittin’ out gospel and the gutter truth. Yeah, I’m worn down, torn down, laughin’ at fate, A dumpster-fire saint showin’ up too late. ’Cause I got the punk blues, baby, I don’t bend, I break. Snappin’ every string I got, Just to feel awake. Yeah, the punk blues bite harder Than any debt I owe, Kickin’ down the doors of heaven With a twenty-dollar show. Strike a match on my ribs, Let the sparks hit the sky. If I’m goin’ down tonight, I’m takin’ every damn lie. Blow it raw, blow it wrong, blow it ’til it hurts, Turn the speakers into coffins, Send the angels to the dirt. Yeah, these punk blues, baby, Ain’t no savin’ me now. I got a beat-up heart And a “fuck you” vow. If the reaper wants a dance, He better step in time, ’Cause the punk blues own me, And I sure as hell ain’t fine.

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