Send Em To The Cemetery

by PUNCHER

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credits

released January 1, 2014

Recorded November 2 & 3, 2013 in Eau Claire, WI.
Engineered by Jaime Hansen at Wail House.
Mastered by Zach Hanson.
Thanks to Addie Strei, Trevor Ives and Jordan Duroe for yelling with us, and thanks to the rest of Wisconsin for the hatred and alcoholism that fueled these songs.

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about

PUNCHER Eau Claire, Wisconsin

Some guys wanted to play fast, heavy music.
They made a band called Puncher.

Eric Rykal | Guitar
Dave Power | Drums
Andy Plank | Vocals
Scotty Hayden | Bass

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Track Name: Always Be Punching Racists
All you bastard bigots better not be
Bringing that bullshit anywhere near me.
Your face, my fist.
Any night of the week, punching racists.
No compromise, no closing my eyes,
No cold shoulder, nowhere to run and hide.
Knock out! Knock out!

Clear hearts, full minds, cannot lose.
Your brain clearly underused.
I won't accept the excuse.
Nobody else to blame, this is all on you.

In your own racist joke you're the punchline,
And I'll be the first one to laugh
When you're alone and you die.

You hide your shameful face inside a white cotton hood,
That won't stop you from getting all the stompin's you should.
Your head, my foot.
Any night of the week, stompin' it good.
The bottom of my boot leaves footprint stains
Down the street, laughing and I'm walking away.
Knock out! Knock out!

Small towns, small minds, and small fine lines
Between big towns and hatred crimes.
Each one points at the other side
For all the things that they've been thinking all the time.

In your own racist joke you're the punchline,
And I'll be the first one to laugh
When you're alone and you die.

Yeah and I know all the stories.
They're typical and boring.
You all say it's not your fault,
That you grew up this way.
But in your nature versus nurture debate,
Do you ever contemplate your ability to reason?
To use your own head for something?
Or are you too busy pumping your chest?
Adrenaline and ignorance.

Knock down! Drag out!
Track Name: Water Boned On Ham Street
When the gold fades away, it's the humbling truth of decay
On the skyscrapers and Escalades that you've been hiding inside.
The worry is a waste, nobody cares about your eyeliner or stupid hair.

Now it's gone too far to come back.
All your dreams are buried and you're trashed.

These days all I see is plastic. (Hey! Hey! Hey!)
And plastic people walking aimlessly. (Hey! Hey! Hey!)
You all look like fools, stumbling in heels,
With no direction or purpose, and I fear

Now it's gone too far to come back.
All your dreams are buried and you're trashed.

Swallow reality or you'll have to pay
By wiping it off of your ugly face.
Track Name: All Good Mall Punks Go To Heaven
It's gonna stay that way if you keep playing dead.
If you keep making that sound.
Face down!

I want a better answer for all your unasked questions,
One I can believe in.
You want to know your future, I want to know just who has
Their byline on the past.
I want to step inside those most frigid nights
To see how people survived.

You said I was a riot back then, and I'm alright now.
I lost my fire when everything went to hell.

Tell me, who am I supposed to be if there are millions of others of me?
Proud to walk at the same pace, staring at dirt on the ground.
Face down!

I want another chance to be in a punk rock band who
Writes music not dance moves.
I want another chance to be in a punk rock band who
Writes music not dance moves.
I want a look inside those record deals you sign.
How many swallow your pride?

We all do deals in the dark.
Track Name: Theme Song For a Puncher
Too long, we've been listening to songs as background music.
And everybody has the changes in their hands.

I'm tired of standing still.
I'm tired of all these bands
Who look bored with their own jams.

Too long, we've been listening to songs as background music.
And everybody has the changes in their hands.

You can always punch your way out.
Track Name: Fuck Barbara Walters
Boiling over in American homes, everyone's dying to be alone.
You spy with your little eye everything in everybody else's lives.

Keep it glued to your TV screen. And when you wake up...

Check to see if you missed anything
Newsworthy or at all life-changing.
Check the station with that morning anchor,
The face you trust for your dose of anger.

So clean, so calm, so fresh and so young,
The kind of man you would love to have as a son.

Keep it glued to your TV screen. And when you wake up...

Check the logo, red and white and blue.
The all-American tragedy they're selling you.
But you were born with it, so why stop now?
Liberation is a word unrenowned,
Best kept under cushions of your couch,
Small change you forgot about.
Everyday is another chance
To pick it up and start new trends.
Or follow the bouncing ball.
Track Name: Tickets To The Gun Show
Everyday you hold your breath you lose a chance
To be a better man, to be apart of something bigger.
That twitching hand, the trigger finger,
Holding tightly to the last thing you feel confident about.
The one and only family member that won't walk out.

Our empty screams and hollow heads.
This is America, we're paranoid men.

And it's not what you say, it's how you yell.

Everyday that starts in glory ends in rain.
We've got to wash away the pride of yesterdays
That stained our perfect skin and aging traditions.
All gaining numbers and strength, over time.
Vicariously living through sons of mine.

Our empty screams and hollow heads.
This is America, we're paranoid men.

You know, you've got to hold on tight
To everything you ever loved.
Because when the day finally comes,
They're going to take them from your home.
You know not what you live for,
Nor what you've lived for in the past.
The only thing you can be sure about
Is that they'll pry it from your cold dead hands.

Just stayin' alive!