Letters to German Vasquez Rubio

by Ecce Shnak

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about

This is our first record, man, released 12/16/2013!

It's dedicated to the maker of singer Davey's classical guitar (Thanks again, most excellent GVR!)!

It's 10 tracks/15 minutes of giggle-weeping!

We cut the first three jawns at Philadelphia's Headroom Studios and the latter seven jawns in Jeff Lucci's living room!

Then they mixed their respective jawns and THEN-GET THIS-

Jorgan Bubblebath took the jiggle out i.e. mastered it! Mastered it right square in the wenis!

Rebecca "Spook" Wasilewski made the yummy cover art! MMMMMM good!

Sire Press printed the 100 hard copies we got!

credits

released December 16, 2013

Johnjordandrake Davebillmike played all of the instruments.

Fanks to: Jorgan, Spooky, Kyle, Jeff and Sire Press. Your work in helping engineer, master, yummify, and distribute this album was juuuuuuuuuuust dynamite. Hugs to you! :)

Cherubim-faced Paul Cornelius provided darlingest encouragement, song by song, kiss by kiss, and limb by limb. :)

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Ecce Shnak New York, New York

Help, Twitter!

We need you to delete "our" account, which we didn't even open. Somebody trying to sabotage the band made it several years ago, and we are just noticing it now. There's a single, very gross Tweet which we didn't write or know anything about. We don't know the login information, so we can't delete the Tweet, nor can we use Twitter.

Thank you for any help you can give.

Best,

E.S.
... more

contact / help

Contact Ecce Shnak

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Track Name: I'm Made of Toys
Silly Putty for a soul
slinky intestine
colored-pencil phallus and marble testicles
I’m made of toys

Kidney made of play-doh
paper mache skin
Shoot and Ladder neurotransmitters upstairs for
I’m made of toys

Puzzle pieces, Chinese Checkers those comprise my skeleton
My skeleton

Donatello, G.I. Joe, Robocop: Immune system
Immune system

And I played with myself when I was a boy
When I was a little boy
Never needed no one else when I was a boy
When I was a little Micro Machine

Honey let’s have a play-date for I’m a grown up now

Honey come on color me in
Stupid girl ignore the lines
Scribble as you will with no regard for object permanency

You can poke holes in me
Set me on fire
Throw me off a thousand-story building just to watch me explode

Your pajamas stained with my cherry-colored rainbow flavored blood (blood)

All my entrails are scattered boomerangs and hockey pucks and love (all my love)

Mama’s callin your name
Honey run along now
Baby get the fuck up outta here

Honey put your toys away
In the proper bin
In the proper motherfucking bin

Put your dirty hands on me tomorrow goodbye for now
Track Name: Letter to German Vasquez Rubio
Dear German Vasquez Rubio
Do you cry yourself to sleep
For all of your labor? It was just happenstance
that a little punk kid like me happened to get his hands
on one of your progeny.

These mellow tones (Mellow mellow! Mellow mellow!)...
Only the finest Indian Spruce produce (Spruce produce!).
Sorrowful tones ...
Only the happiest little boys produce.

I think we'll meet some day in Sevilla.
I will play La Catedral so well.
I will freak it ten-thousand beats per minute.
You will say, "Holy guacamole your wicked!


Your wicked! Kick it!"

And she wears her scrapes and bruises well.
In fact she wears them like a queen.
With a soul so beautiful, powerful!
Indefatigable conscience to match!
Easy anthropomorphism, homeboy she's a catch!
With a soul so beautiful, powerful!
Indefatigable conscience to match!
Easy anthropomorphism, homeboy she's a catch!

These mellow tones (Mellow mellow! Mellow mellow!)...
Only the finest Indian Spruce produce (Spruce produce!).
Sorrowful tones ...
Only the happiest little boys produce.

I think we'll meet some day in Sevilla.
I will play La Catedral so well.
I will freak it ten-thousand beats per minute.
You will say, "Holy guacamole your wicked!
Track Name: "Hey Man, Nice Turtle!" Theme
Turtles make good pets
Turtles make good pets unless your turtle is a vet
Turtle is a vet, run away from it
Bite off your penis when you are undressed a reaction to post-traumatic stress
‘minded him of Normandy, you know freedom isn’t free chomp off your shit from your balls to your head

Hey, that’s a
very exquisite turtle
And I suppose I’d like to take your turtle for a walk
My, oh my
What a fuckin’ excellent turtle
And I think I know how to teach your turtle how to talk
With a little bread and little water
Dictionary, Harry Potter,
Roald Dahl, R.L. Stine
And William Steig will do just fine

Turtle shells will protect you from the irrational
I’ve met only but a few who are not rational
Friends are few and far between without turtle around
So I keep one in each pocket lest this cruel world confound

World confound

Because he’s the sublime one the ultra-refined one I hope that you find one of your own
For your survival you won’t need your Bible just ultra-reptile testosterone
He can provide various benefits, do your dishes, kiss your lips serve up some D-Major pedal tones
Come on and quit the gams cut the shit don’t be such a idiot

Come on and find one of your own
I bet you can find one of your own

Hey, that’s a
very exquisite turtle
And I suppose I’d like to take your turtle for a walk
Teach your turtle how to talk
Liken him to J.S. Bach
No J.S. Bach
No J.
S.
Bach
Bach
Bach
Track Name: Bill's Pronunciation Aid
Nibblin on sponge cake
Watchin the sun bake
All of those tourists covered with oil
Strummin my six-string
On my front porch swing
Smell those shrimp they're beginnin to boil

Chorus:
Wastin away again in margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame
But I know it's nobodys fault

I don't know the reason
I stayed here all season
Nothin to show but this brand new tattoo
But it's a real beauty
A mexican cutie
How it got here I haven't a clue

Chorus:
Wastin away again in margaritaville
Searchin for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame
Now I think
Hell, it could be my fault

I blew out my flip-flop
Stepped on a pop-top
Cut my heel had to cruise on back home
But there's booze in the blender
And soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on

Wastin away again in margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame
But I know it's my own damn fault
Yes and some people claim that there's a woman to blame
And I know it's my own damn fault
Track Name: Harassment I: 30-Second Song
bum. bum. bum.

bum. bum. bum.

diddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddle et cetera ad finitem.
Track Name: Harassment II: Muscle Suit
Fancypants
Muscle suit
Betchoo think it's super cute
Drunken elephant on the loose
bullet-and-compassion-proof

your

Megaman, Machoman, Jenny, and Lieutenant Dan
When you give this act a rest I promise I'm your biggest fan
16-bit, full 'o shit, pretty-please just call it quits
You'd love to say, "I hate to say I told you so!"

Leave me the fuck alone.
Track Name: Harassment III: Applepineapplewatermelonapplepineappewatermelon
Applepineapplewatermelonapplepineapplewatermelon
Applepineapplewatermelonapplepineapplewatermelon

Honeydew, honey don't!
Honey will, honey won't!

Nonono

Applepineapplewatermelonapplepineapplewatermelon
Applepineapplewatermelonapplepineapplewatermelon

Watermelonpineappleappleappleapplepineapple-

SLAUGHTERMELON!

SHYUSS! (huh!)
Track Name: Harassment IV: Argumentative Hobgoblin
I'd like a pumpkin. Can I have it?

I'd like a pumpkin. Can I have it?

I fast for the hell of it. It's a terrible habit!
But it'll turn me into a spectacular Milton Babbit!
And if I end up in this encyclopedia, you can stab it!
But I'd like a pumpkin. Can I have it?
Track Name: Dingleberry I: Fight Song
All your rage, don't resist! Fuck your yuppy therapist!

(Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!)

Cross your name off my list of people who still exist!

(Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!)

Piece 'a fuck--eat a fist! All my rage I won't resist!

(Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!)

You think you will win this fight? Fuck you! You won't win this--

FIGHT.

Little shit, sing along! Kick your ass to Rammstein songs!

(Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!)

Any comprehensive study of Hermeneutic delineations must first be predicated on

(Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!)

Arm all of the terrorists! Lynch the fuhrer at a bris!

(Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!)

Arm all of the terrorists! Hope and Change hates your kids!

FIGHT.
FOR YOUR RIGHT.
TO.
FIGHT.
Track Name: Dingleberry II: South Street
South Street! It's a crazy place!
Pretty girls punch you in the face!
Everybody's getting drunk!
Everyone else is getting drunk!
Black chicks, dildos in hand!
White man happened to be policeman!
Who's that over there?
Isaiah Zagar chewing his pubic hair!

SOUTH!
STREET!
SOUTH STREET!
SOUTH STREET, MOTHERFUCKER!

Cheesesteak, South and Passayunk!
That Mayor Nutter does not like the punks!
(Parking, not so bad
compared with the rest of Philadelphia)
Christ kids! They don't quit!
They're always trying to give you pamphlets!
PBR! It's the cheap beer!
There are lots of people that are not from here!

SOUTH!
STREET!
SOUTH STREET!
SOUTH STREET, MOTHERFUCKER!

?uest Love shops at Whole Foods
while one-million women wait for him in the nude!
Black Thought rides a government car
to Tattooed Mom's to pen 64 bars!
Governor (Corbett's the name)--
You are a terrible person!
Flash mobs fuck your shit up!
Break a yuppy's face with a coffee-mug!

SOUTH!
STREET!
SOUTH STREET!
SOUTH STREET, MOTHERFUCKER!