GFH by CDSM
On “GFH”, CDSM alleviates our existential pain with a postmodern disco scorcher. Since the World is literally and physically crumbling around us, why not abandon ourselves to soothing rhythm sections, fierce saxophone flurries and manic synth modulations, as we’re told vivid tales of a double agent.
Tracklist
| 1. | GFH | 6:13 |
Lyrics
I had offenses
Minor offenses
Enlarged my sentence
I did the penance
Now I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
Now I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
Now I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
Now I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
Send me back into the clubs and filthy basements
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
Send me back into the clubs and filthy basements
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
There was a woman
That they were after
The men in suits
Who do their taxes
In her hotel room
Is where I met her
Wearing a wire
Covered in sweat
She wasn’t pretty
But you can bet I did my duty
Till she ripped off my shirt
And reached for the dresser
A three inch blade
She stuck into my gut
I pulled it out
There’s so much blood
So I tried to say something sexy
Like are you busy later
She screamed
”Get out you fucking narc, you fucking creep!”
I tried to run but the knife hit my throat
And now I’m choking on my blood
Like a pigeon in the mud
That’s why I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
That’s why I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
That’s why I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
That’s why I’m wearing wires
Just a gun for hire, just a gun for hire
Send me back into the clubs and filthy basements
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
Send me back into the clubs and filthy basements
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
Lookin for trouble, bet I can find it
In my next life
I was a rat
I lived on shit
I lived on trash
Nobody gave me any cheese
So I grew up angry
And I grew up mean
And then some cats
They picked me up
Said “Boy your all mine unless you do our dirty work”
But I remembered from the last time
So I told them
“Fuck off”
Instead of giving me a wire
They gave me a gun
They shipped me out East
To fight in their war
To take another rats life
With my own two rat hands
That’s enough reason to break it down
Credits
Tyler Jundt: Synth, Sax, Vocals
Ben Presley: Synth, Vocals, Guitar, Bass
John Restivo: Drums, Percussion, Vocals
Produced by Jack Blauvelt
Mixed by CDSM and Jack Blauvelt
Mastered by Dennis Bowen
License
All rights reserved.
CSDM a.k.a. Celebrity Death Slot Machine is a “freakout post-punk group” (FLOOD Magazine) based in Atlanta, GA. Their stylish sonic onslaught is anchored around dancey rhythms, atypical synthesizer work, timely saxophone growls, as well as goth rock-esque melodies that serve to recount bizarre humor-laden tales from a derelict parallel universe.