Plump Up The Volume

by Composted

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credits

released April 14, 2015

Evan - Vocals
Mark - Guitar/Vocals
Tim - Bass
Mike - Drums

All music written by Composted
Additional lead & rhythm guitar by Eliot "The Blackness Monster" Bayless

Engineered, Mixed & Produced by Eliot Bayless at 37' Productions in Rockland, MA between February 2013 and May 2014

Mastered by Rob Gonnella & Nick Zampiello at New Alliance East in Cambridge, MA in June 2014

Released by Ossuary Industries in CD format 4/14/15

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Composted Boston, Massachusetts

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Track Name: Trollin_4_Hogan
A/S/L: 19/Female/In your dreams, baby
IRL: 40/Male/At your window, maybe?
LOL! OMG, WTF?
Show me your dick on A.I.M. or ChatRoulette

I’m logged on to get off
Trollin’ for Hogan, show me your cock
Wife and kids are sound asleep
It’s time for daddy to creep
I get hard when you think I’m wet
Posing as a nymphette on the net
I’m a boy-crazy tranny shogun
Don’t say a word, just make with the Hogan

Hey baby, do you wanna cyber? You can find me on AdultFriendFinder
You boys are so naïve; I’m gettin’ nudes with the greatest of ease

Silly goose, if you only knew
I grew up with your mother and father
And now I’m baiting you
With semi-nude pictures of my daughter

I can’t wait to witness the look in your eyes
When an overweight, middle-aged, balding cross-dresser arrives

Oooh baby I’mma break yo dick off
Oooh baby I’mma buttah yo bread
I’ll use your tears as lube
Tonight you’re sleeping in papa’s bed
Track Name: SIDS & The City
Life ain’t easy on the upper west side
Art openings, limos, wine and cheese, bitch please
My socialite girlfriend is constantly bitching for cash

But I’d spend it all for that gorgeous pink gash
She only cares about fashion trends but when I knocked her up
She feared her posh existence would end

Seven months pregnant, she pummeled her womb
With Apple-tini’s and blow till our baby went boom.
Our private doctor said it was prenatal child abuse
So I showed him my steel, since his services were no longer of use

God, she loved our dead kin’s supple skin, and damn she needed a new purse
So she flayed off its skin, let the sewing begin; I guess I can cancel that hearse.

Infant leather made one hell of a bag
And soon my bitch’s purse was in high demand.
Cityscapes full of cosmetic surgery-ruined whores
Were now flaunting my child’s remnants down the runway floors

Bitches spending all their cash on dead infant handbags
Every four months my girlfriend was self-aborting our lineage
Pumping herself with fertility drugs and snow had really begun to take its toll
The day I found her dead, an idea popped into my head:
Human leather high heels, the most luscious pairs
For the highest bidding NYC cunt millionaires
Track Name: Brass Moose Knuckles
I went down to a hardcore show to slug some beers and bother chicks I don’t know.
But as soon as I hit the dance floor I saw more fruity kids flailing around than at a Kanye West show

I miss the thrills of impending danger
Kids these days pit like they’re the fucking Pink Ranger

Are my fucking eyes deceiving me?
Whatever happened to honor and unity?
This karate kid shit has turned my sight red
I’m about to rearrange more faces than a Mr. Potato Head

I went down to a hardcore show
Smashing High Life and spitting game to strange hoes
And sure enough the next thing you know
I got their skinny boyfriends throwing limp wrists
Like I’m someone to be fucked with

I miss the thrills of impending danger
Kids these days pit like they’re the fucking Pink Ranger

And for my honor, for my pride; I’m not just gonna kick your ass
I’ll abduct your girlfriend, carve out her hot pocket and dip it in brass
So you can call me crazy or quick to overreact, but I’m still coming full force
And with your girls twat you’ll be whacked

Brass Moose Knuckles are coming your way
You fucked with me now it’s time to pay
I got your girl’s fish flaps fastened to my fists
Blunt force cunnilingus split your lips with her lips (x2)

Once I pluck the sweet meats next to your girl’s anus
I’m molding moose knuckles into weapons quite heinous
Cold blooded psycho wielding pussies dipped in brass
In the hierarchy of foul vengeance I’m at the top of the class (x2)

Went back to that hardcore show
Exacting vengeance the only way that I know
I just turned these kids’ faces into fucking ground beef
With a brass set of sex organs no longer able to queef
Track Name: BB(W)Q
Obese woman: 400 lbs.
Too many Twinkies, she’s trapped in her house
Stuffing her face with deliveries from town
Her ungodly appearance makes many dicks frown

She eats enough food to feed an entire family
Couch sores on her skin must be peeled daily

Daytime talk shows and Parliament cigarettes
Welfare and disability checks pay the rent
She admires the lifestyles of the rich and famous
Yet she lives the lifestyle of the obese and heinous

She eats enough food to feed an entire family
Couch sores on her skin must be peeled daily
Fused to her sofa by rotten flesh gravy
Tube-tied to oxygen because she’s too fucking lazy

Late at night she passes out with a cigarette
While watching reruns of Cheers
The cherry falls down and hits the shag carpet
And everything goes Bad News Bears

Flames flow like water, the curtains ablaze
Knick-knacks, midnight snacks melt within the haze
Floral print coffin lights up like a match
Wood panel walls melt to the white trash
The rafters give way, mashing the spud
Fiery embers are boiling her blood
Dying eyes locked onto the TV set
Obese woman now charred human sludge

The rafters give way, mashing the spud
Melting like salt snowing on slugs
Her final screams muffled by molten lard
The scent of her flesh attracts ravenous ‘tards
Hunger pangs tear at her jellyrolls
Fat cells drip out from various holes
BB(W)Q, no blood left to spill
The tables have turned now that you’re on the grill

Fire consumes the oxygen tank
Metal heats fast, peeling the paint
Morphed from couchdaver to gelatinous blob
Propelled by gas and cheap alcohol
She blasts through air like jiggly napalm
Like Santa’s sleigh attached to an A-bomb
Splitting to pieces like a falling star
Into kiddie pools full of famished retards

Mongoloids swarm and target their stew
Devouring chunks whole, struggling to chew
Hording leftovers in their bathing suits
Morbid hunger sated by fat fuck barbecue
Track Name: OB/GYN O.G.
I got more bitches than puppy mills and I don’t even keep em’ high
They see me smile and think, “Damn, what a nice guy”

They text me late, drunk, cryin’ ‘bout they boyfriend
I know he never takes you out boo, I understand
He never licks you downstairs and that’s a crying shame
He’s to blame, like Bon Jovi givin’ love a bad name
But I’m like Alice In Chains, cuz I’ll get Down In A Hole
I like to grease up the gears before I slide in my pole
So next time your man’s out with his weak ass clique, hit me up
And you can suck on a real man’s dick

It’s Big Ev bitch you know me – all your girlfriends call me OB/GYN O.G.
I’ll never buy you flowers or tell you that I’m in love
But I’ll rip you out ya clothes and fill you up with no glove

I tell you you’re special; you think that I mean unique
But I mean the kind of special reserved for kids with Velcro shoes on their feet

You can feel the boom-bap when my balls slap ya butthole
Now we’re burning shit down just like Great White pyro-techno
Technically you’ve never been fucked before
Because your boyfriend’s got less dick than a lesbian porn
And now I got ya pussy hurtin’ from squirtin’ ovum from your piss curtains
I’m rocking a vibrating cock ring and a solid gold merkin

And yes to me you’re a bog of eternal stench – you wench
Soon to be stained with my white funk like a fucking Boston common park bench.

So forget the swinging 70’s--it’s 2013, and no I don’t need an ID
Who gives a fuck if you’re eighteen?
And just because I mainly bang top-ranked eagles
Doesn’t mean you won’t get it if you resemble a beagle.

No doubt homie, you should hide your sister, hide your wife
Because you might pay the bills but I’m the love of their life
So if you’re into some girl don’t bring her out to a show
Because I’ll spit on the mic and then I’ll spit on her holes.

Even if she got a mouth like a New England longshoreman
I’ll leave her thighs more dented than the god Lamont Coleman
Big ass, big lips and fat titties
I know she’s your girl but I fucked her what a pity. (x2)

It’s Big Ev bitch you know me – all your girlfriends call me OB/GYN O.G.
I’ll never buy you flowers or tell you that I’m in love
But I’ll rip you out ya clothes and fill you up with no glove

I tell you you’re special; you think that I mean unique
But I mean the kind of special reserved for kids with Velcro shoes on their feet
Track Name: Slit 'N Slide
Yes, my life is shit;
I got fired from the Spritz--a water park so nice and clean
They really detested my acts obscene.
I really loved that place and now I’m such a waste.
I may as well go back there and take my life
Got my sunscreen, got my knife

Yes, my life is shit, but once I was so pure
Until I pounded in your kiddies’ chlorine drenched turds
Pushed

I’m sliding down, where everybody knew my name, I’m sliding down
Open a main vein on the slide called “Geronimo!”

Last breath obscene, final inhale of black tar and speed
Your kids are stunned when they’re blasted with hep-c piss
And rotten blood from a former water park employee turned suicidal thug
Track Name: Toddler Cobbler
Since the day that she was born, daddy planned to put her in porn
Blanket made of bondage straps, dildos dangling from mobiles
Barbie was replaced with Bimbo Bettie the blow-up dolly
All key components for daddy’s girl to learn her calling

Older sister cast aside, traded in for fresh new flesh
Abandoned child bride; the tires have lost their tread
She did the only thing she knew how to do
She went to school to recruit a group of tiny prostitutes

Oh father dear
Your mini-slut in training
Became jealous of all the balls
Sister’s lips were draining

A pseudo-sadistic statistic slinging spooge through the family tree
A petty pimp prompting progeny to perform in pornography
Big sis got out of line, and took the profit for herself
This can’t go on, it’s time to put that bitch’s head on a shelf

They have a recipe for a tasty treat
Eliminate the competition directly from the streets

Bake them into pastries; let them rot in swollen guts
Sever the suction pumps; the little sluts to star in snuff

$1 for a rimjob, or cruller laced with baby
How about kiddy cannoli? Cherub biscuits soaked in gravy?
Toddler cobbler baked by a mad pedomaniac
Sold in dozens from the back of his Pontiac
He’d never see jail if he bargained with the judge
He’s got a sweet tooth for the taste of infant sludge

Behold the American Wet Dream
Little angels giving head in the back of the bus
Behold the American Wet Dream
Grade school girls vag-azzling their muffs

Pop stars teaching toddlers to flaunt their tits
Kids these days have gone straight to shit
Track Name: Sausage Cathedral
When my sausage factory closed, all of my workers lost their homes
And as the economy fell on its back, I blew my life savings on whores and crack
So I joined my ex-employees under the bridge where they taught me
The art of huffing fermented shit, and the day I made my own body waste batch,
An immaculate hobo savior was hatched

Chorus:
I am your God – Adorn me with sausages
I am your lord – Go forth find sausages

Indeed my jenkum showed my workers the light, so they followed my orders
And robbed butcher shops at night
A cardboard box was no temple for a rotten shit messiah
So they built me a sausage altar to receive my sacramental doo-doo jambalaya.

(Chorus)

Breathe deep my heavenly slop

My corporate life I had failed; addiction gripped me, all hope had sailed
Good karma kicked in; my pain had passed
When sweet brown communion sprung forth from my ass

When I became constipated, my congregation fell to their knees
And prayed for a movement on seagull foot rosary beads
But as the months passed and I approached death,
My loyal followers said, “Fuck it” And switched over to meth.

Abandoned – Forgotten – Betrayed – Begotten

(Chorus)
Track Name: Gone Baby Gonorrhea
My dick is sick--it looks like shit, but you’ll suck me off you crazy bitch
The time has come; the time is now--sore cock snack time for a rancid sow
She’s past the point of giving a fuck about protection.

Chorus:
“What the fuck’s a condom?!” I just said I don’t want them
Only if you’re dripping with STDs will I drop to my knees
Well you can call me “Make A Wish” you lucky fucking nasty bitch
She’s grinning wide from ear to ear; it’s time to make a world premier

Out comes my pud, raw and clotted with blood
This nasty slag just fucking fell in love
She whips out her breasts and her rank pubic nest
Even though my messmaker’s like a Mama Celeste.

(Chorus)

She sucks, she blows, she ain’t light on her toes
How she stomachs me no one fucking knows
She’s the queen of yeast and I’m a horrid beast
But together we have found a depraved sexual peace
Track Name: The Proof Is In The Pudding
Compact bodies, laid out on cots and floor mats
Rise painfully out of naptime coma from spiked Snack Packs
Blood-curdling screams engulf the facility
“I want my mommy! Where’s my binky?!”

Mary had a class of darling, little lambs
The most precious group of angels
They say, “You only hurt the ones you love”
And these kids got straight fucking mangled.

Her teeth were rotten from years of crystal meth addiction,
So she put herself on a not-so-gentle dental mission.

The storybooks and fables finally cracked Miss Mary
Mentally transforming her into the tooth fairy

Equipped with crates of 101 proof homemade whiskey
Mary snuck into the daycare before dawn one morning
The fridge presented a plentiful plethora of pudding
So she peeled back the seals and started pouring
The hours leading to the feeding began fleeting
Anticipation growing for inebriation and unconscious snoring

At snack time they slurped and slurped away
Pounding pudding cups like Jell-O shots
They staggered, stumbled, swaggered and swayed
Shit-house drunk, passed out on Teletubby cots

And so they sleep; 2.3 B.A.C.
And so she creeps, pliers pulling baby teeth

And so she flees, to turn trashed tikes’ teeth into jewelry
And so she’ll reap profits of daycare dentistry

Trails of bracelets constructed of incisors and bicuspids
Led investigators to the basement of the culprit
Jars of molars from the jaws of Pre-K scholars
Lined the walls of her dank, dark, mildewed cellar
And now Miss Mary the Meth-Mouthed Tooth Fairy
Will spend the rest of her life lusting for teeth behind bars