Avenue Of Love Roses

by Aux 78

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about

Recorded Jan 2015-April 2015 in Sunny Portland Oregon

Written, Performed and Produced by Aux.78

all music and words
2015 AppleLeg Music

credits

released April 10, 2015

Additional Musicians:

Helga - percussion
Eleanor - percussion
USBJ Ockey- spinning, filters
Dick Shun - background vocals
T. Knowles - piano, guitar, synthesizer


Additional Production:

Fripp Farley Francis
Cousteau Archie
Sheldon Chester
USBJ Ockey

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Aux 78 Portland, Oregon

Aux.78 (nicholas matta) is a solo recording artist, musician, sound designer and live performer based in Portland, Oregon. Aux.78's music is diverse and eclectic. Whether setting the scene with vocal works or electronic wizardry, Matta is a master of emotion and tone painting. Aux.78 is not set to genre and takes pleasure in blurring those lines. ... more

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Track Name: They've Got A Bone We've Got A Bone
They've got a bone

We've got a bone

I'm not digging on the god damn
wham bam fucking the van band
snorting up a grand and

I'm not talking about no band hoes
sucking on those brown nosed
comatose bros hoes coke toed
taking on a full load

I'm not touching on the god damned ass can
puking up the last brand
drinking when we land band
pissing in my pants man

I'm not digging on those boats no, hell no
caviar and horderves sipping on the oak juice
tripping on my own noose

I'm not living in those fast cars
biker bars, BBQ tit joints
racking up the dick points

I'm not dying on the asphalt, your fault
everybody's own halt
trying to get to work fast
running on that golden gas

I'm not fussing on those locked screens
colored dreams tripping in your Apps wipe
swiping all these phone types hiding shit from my wife

I'm not gathering up the info
chicken toes lizard lips
watching up all these stupid kids licking up the flagpole

I'm not lying about this passive shit
aggressive wit
huffing up the vapor trying to keep it tapered

They've got bones

We've got bones
Track Name: Funky Bunches Of Oats (Oil Burner Remix)
Fuck my face and I'll show you
Rub my neck and I'll scold you
Twist my finger and I'll bone you
Suck my nipple and hold me

Cuz I'm fucked up
I wanna fuck fucked up
cuz I'm messed up and I can't afford this, uh
Cuz I'm fucked up
I wanna fuck fucked up
cuz I'm messed up and I can't afford this, uh

Twerk my mane cuz I'm funky
Jerk my thing and I'll stone ye
Fuck my brains and I'll owe you
Suck my pimples and hold me

Cuz I'm high!
I wanna fuck fucked up
cuz I'm jacked up and I can't afford this, uh
Cuz I'm high!
I wanna fuck fucked up
cuz I'm jacked up and I can't afford this, uh

Scrub my bones and I'll probe you
Tickle my ankles and I'll fold you
Taste my ringer and I'll moan you
Rip my pinky and I'll show you

Cuz I'm latched
I wanna fuck fucked up
Cuz I'm lit up and I can't afford this, uh
Cuz I'm latched
I wanna fuck fucked up
Cuz I'm lit up and I can't afford this, uh

Charm my brain cuz I'm lovely
Tweak this train cuz it's empty
Bump my uglies then I'll shun you
Drip your undies on my plateau

Cuz I'm high!
I wanna fuck fucked up
Cuz I'm wigged out and I can't afford this, uh
Cuz I'm high!
I wanna fuck fucked up
Cuz I'm wigged out and I can't afford this, uh
Track Name: Poppers
High brow brush off, suspended pills
Carouselled carcass, marching sticks
Keeping time with heartbeats chasing wine

Smoking die breath, hark, no gates
The clock is set to counter our food
Get set for spirituals and warm

Family die breath, fleeting, consumptive

High brow brush off entangled anatomy
Suit and tie cardboard criticism
Harding decaying, dropping sticks

The waves only count as integers, confusing

Tar killed gnat, hark, no canaries
The captivation held prisoner
Bread and water

Led on by radicals and bake sales
Tar wiped earthworm, pushing, enveloped
Cufflinks and lapels in habitual photography
Track Name: Her Tassels Were Made Of Plaster
EXPLICIT

Her Tassels Were Made Of Plaster

These tassels are all made of cement
I’m chasing these girls
Their habits make them fuck like goats
I’ve had my face bashed in chasing those four winged flies
Where’d that bullet go, son?
Where did that lady go?
Where’d that bullet go, son?
1,2,3
Her tassels were made of plaster
Her tassels were made of rock
I keep to myself these days
I’m chasing these girls
Their habits make them fuck for nothing
I’ve had my face slashed before
I’m always chasing those skirts
Where’d that bullet go, son?
Where’d that bullet go?