Shit for Brains

No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.

I woke up in a cold sweat Wriggling and writhing... a man in the net Take the bit in the teeth... put the gun in the hand There ain't no judge this is no man's land It's Sick City Sick City Sick City's got seven sins No place where the conscience wins Misery may be mother One beggar can beg from another Strike with the sword Stricken with the scabbard You won't get far climbing the ladder Gotta take care of necessities Caring for people's a luxury Make sure you get what you need So you threaten with a knife to feed your greed Sick City's got seven sins No place where the conscience wins Sick City's got a sacred secret Save your breath to cool your broth Sick city... swollen land Grease on the palm or a broken arm Sick City has a special flavour A brand new way to love thy neighbour Sick City's got a sacred secret Your guts get full don't drag your legs In Sick City you're better off dead Take the fat with the lean or a hole in your head

Submitted by Pestilence — Feb 21, 2026

I don't think And I don't feel I don't know what the fuck is real I don't need rehabilitation I just need my medication I used to dream of apple pie The girl next door A golden thigh And I can't take my whole town The whole place just brings me down I was born in 44 20 years later Right for war I better get my morphine Because I'm allowed a medics killing machine Get up stand up Shut up I want more Get up stand up Fuck up You need war In this city of my sensation Breaking my back for this whole damn nation I was sent to a foreign land To kill for the glory of Uncle Sam It's real life of nightmare shame The things I've done in freedoms name Now I'm a waste in society I only know of aggression and brutality My piece of mind Is a mind of crap I've had my thrills I need my pills I just need high sedation What that is germination My crutch is guilt My crotch is dead My crop is the wrath of Beelzebub Get up stand up Shut up I need more Get up stand up Fuck up You need war Get up stand up Shut up I need more Get up stand up Fuck up You need war This city of my sensation Breaking my back for this Damn nation This city is my damn war I'm sorry ya'll accepted Unrational laws Coming home you promised me A hero's welcome A remedy Now I'm a waste in society I only know of aggression and brutality I've been paralyzed Analyzed I had enough of your bag of lies I don't think And I don't feel I don't know what the fuck is real You can free ya Never see ya Never free ya' Notice me yeah

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Feb 21, 2026

I like to get down on my anus And ask God to enlarge my penis I sing the praise of this song to you 'Cause I want to have one that's as big as you I don't care, I'm a mindless fuck Give me a tube and I'm ready to suck The big right wing, the big right wrist Is getting sore from rubbing my thing I'm waiting I'm waiting Just waiting Waiting Republican like a South African Cut me open and see my hate 'Cause on your knees I hear you say please And on your neck it's just squeeze, squeeze, squeeze I got my job, car, and money to burn My hands are clean when I cut off your balls I got a muscle in the back of my neck Rub my little muscle in the back of my neck God, I feel healthy, I feel fine That sweet little conillon's mine, mine, mine Gang rape, no escape Then put you down and bait, bait, bait Waiting Are you waiting? I'm pig breath Well, I'm pig breath Well, I'm pig breath Well, I'm pig breath I don't care, I'm a mindless fuck Give me the money and I'm ready to suck I got the big right wing, the big right wrist It's getting sore from rubbing that thing I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting Well, I'm waiting Well, I'm waiting I'm waiting Well, I'm waiting Well, I'm waiting

Submitted by Pestilence — Feb 21, 2026

I met her in Peoria 250 lbs. of flabby harlot woman flesh Is wobbling around the hotel room, farting Mucus is dripping from her pig-hole nostrils into her mouth Nah, streaming Steaming, streaming great green rivulet Her tounge makes sure no leftover chunks go astray, miss their mark Mom I mean buisness Put your finger on the button Yeah, will do Just let me finish this page I said (hog call) Sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky Tounge's feeling dry, swollen up like a pocket full of lint inclusive Know what I mean Know what I mean Know what I mean Failing that, the falling fat Crack another six pack and get on with the job at hand Many hands make light work But makes palms broth Fists flying and slipping into hole after hole after hole after heat Hey, she buys cayenneby the quart Filled up to the elbow bone, fried up to the joint Filed at the shin, skin hanging off in sheets and shards You do this shit for a living Those grimey, greasy pores exuding their slimy mixture of filth and puss In little white whorled pustules Every time she smiles that yellow, shit-eating grin That shit-eating grin Christ, she was beautiful

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Feb 21, 2026