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While no one in the band claims to be any sort of esteemed social critic, let alone an extraordinarily gifted poet, we feel that HC and Punk, if it is to mean anything, must be about more than just good music. Here is a sampling of some of the things we've been yelling in your ear through all those crackly, broken PA systems...



PIGEON ENGLISH
Although at times it might look like we're kept busy, Although behind desks and counters we might seem like we're the dumb, complacent. Behind desks and counters or whatever for some 40 hours. You tremble when we show the slightest passion. You want control but we won't sit down. You think it's for sale, but we're not fucking buying. We take what's given and we make it our own. We speak pigeon english. Don't Let Our Compromises Fool You. We haven't forgotten Who you Are. We Haven't forgotten What You've Done. We're Going to Tear Your World Apart! Inside, I think you know that something's brewing, and in a language you could never hope to speak. It's in a form of pigeon english that this threat is spoken. So listen up, this is the voice that will destroy you.

Explanation: Compromise is part of life. Those of us who still live within 'the system' must work jobs and make some concessions. Do not take this as our surrender. We will do what we need to get by. And we will remember what we want--the pigs are all going down.


HUMANITARIAN INTERVENTION
We talk of law and order and demand it on our streets, while halfway around the world, we're bombing neighborhoods to hell. Then You attack youth as violent in all your news magazines. Self-serving interests covered up, to question why is to blaspheme. Good intentions, our interventions are sacred, bloodless and pristine. The liberated cheer the victors (at least in text book history). While wide-eyed, battered, bombed out children "wonder why the westerners are there."* You won't care who gets knocked down. Until the day they fucking rise.

Explanation: Mike and Scott Moore wrote this song together a few years ago when the media and public figures were demonizing young people as violent freaks, while at the same time, the policy-makers of America were busy dropping bombs on civilian cities in Eastern Europe under the guise of altruism. Ironically, this song seems more and more relevant here at home in America as the--quite literal--war against the poor and non-white escalates to a new low and the Bush administration continues the same policy of global bullying America is known for best. *thank you Naked Raygun.


EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH
Dear Employee Number 215386050598430: You've Been Selected As Employee of The Month. We Apologize For the Impersonal Nature of this Form Letter. Keep Up The Hard Work.

Explanation: Greedy fucks gording themselves on Human disIdentity and unWorth. Resist dehumanization in the Workplace and beyond. (As an interesting side-note, we returned home from recording this song for a work-themed compilation on Old Glory Records to find out Mike's dad had been laid of for the second time in one year).


COATRACK
Your exclusion doesn't need to be proven because it's how I feel, No, how you make me feel. From that first time, that "hold my stuff" line. How it made me feel, no, how you make me feel. Is it my job just to hold your arm, to smile and nod? Just a pair of tits, your waifish sidekick? That's how you make me feel. So, with a pink ribbon on your birthday, you're made to feel it was your worst day too.

Explanation: Women--thank you for being patient with us and the punk scene we dominate. Men--let's get serious about respecting women.


HELLFIRE, BRIMSTONE AND CHAMPION SWEATSHIRTS
(A.K.A. There's A Young Republican In The Pit!)
Hellfire, brimstone and champion sweatshirts. Biblical parrellels and religious moralization. Free thinking replaced with a 'natural order'? Where's the resistance in this kind of thought? It betrays your need to purify whenever you feel threatened. Fuck whatever's left of hardline. Every single last crew and fanzine. Backwards minds in jock, thug glitz. There's a young republican in the pit. Your need to purify everyone who's not just like you. Hellfire, brimstone and hardcore--what a stupid combination. Acting tough doing what you're told, you're just afraid of our better world.

Explanation: Given that most of the repressive and backwards morality and authority in our society comes from a religious foundation, it's strange to see religious, conservative and fundamentalist attitudes so prevalent in what's supposed to be an alternative underground. We don't need anyone else's salvation or easy solutions. "Thou Shalt Not Have Fun"-- God, Old Testament. "Mosh Hard or Die!"--Sean, Vegan Reich.


I APOLOGIZE FOR MY HUNGER
I apologize for my hunger, for my inability to relate to your world of inconvenience and hassle when my world fits in a shopping cart. I apologize for my hunger, taking form in an open palm. For staling appetites and ruining Christmas, I apologize. I apologize for my hunger, my refusal to let self starve. For my stubbornness in simply existing and daring to be a human being. For an apology--A Red rose on your pillow and a shit on your carpet. Oh! Thanks for the charity, fuckers.

Explanation: Food is a right, not a privelege.


AND YOU SAY YOU OWN IT?
Fuck your ideas of what's hardcore, fuck your safe prepackaged shit. Fuck your best selling, queer-bashing artists. Fuck this as a commodity. You say you own it when you say what is hardcore, or why we're hardcore. Marketing a movement, for you it's just 'moving units.' Fifteen dollar*, long-sleeve T-shirts, glossy full-page advertisements, promotional 'one-sheets' of what's coming soon, all toilet paper for me and my crew.

Explanation: Aggressive merchandising, savvy marketing and promotional hype do more for keeping people's pockets full than they do for freeing up a public space for art and discourse. Owning a Hatebreed thermos or a Better Than A Thousand cell-phone don't make you a hardcore, just a target market.


EXPIRATION
"Back in my day" is subject to decay, lies done and dated as the dead. But in the interest of their political agendas, they're prepared to return to the days that never were. Turning back the clocks, now halting progress. Pointing to social ails that flourished all the while, now cite a basic moral breakdown. Insisting that regression is the most beneficial way, but misery in '2001 in 1930 was the same. They want it back. Put an expiration date on the American dream.

Expiration: It's a popular, albeit erroneous, attitude amongst Americans of class and privelege that we've have lost touch with the "good old days." Conservative freaks like Attorney General John Ashcroft would even like to re-visit (and no doubt repeal) Civil Rights laws Americans gained decades ago, while simultaneously gutting the rights of women, minorities, the poor and aging. Think of how bad it is when hardcore bands try to rehash the salad days of youth crew and multiply it by a 100. Yea, that's bad.


NO EXCUSE
Every love song and "I love you," every "We can work this out." Any chance at ever trusting, for now, is torn to shreds. Whispered threats and then an apology--broke like a promise (broke like a rib). Any I know I sound paranoid, I know it's my problem, I know it's my fault. And this is just something that I've imagined and it's wrong of me to make all this up. For that I want you to feel like I had to feel--like I had to watch my fucking back. And my reputation, my face and my sex and my heart. Every insult and every put down, every "Just wait 'til we get home." Every arm twist you hide under the table while you smile and joke with my friends. I can't understand what makes you do this. And I know I should try to see past my anger, because you need help. But so far, I haven't been able to find room in my heart to accept what you've done--only what you deserve.

Explanation: There's no excuse for turning emotional baggage into violence or abuse against other people. This is especially hard to see and deal with when it comes from someone who's supposed to be a source of love and support, like a romantic partner or a family member. As a friend, brother, sister, acquaintence, human being, don't let your reaction to this sort of thing be one of neglect. Every time he calls her a slut and you look at the floor, every time she's made to feel small, every time he smacks her and you listen to his excuses, it gets worse. Be a good friend and a respectful, communicative lover.


DOSE
There's a sickness in the class room and teacher's pleased with the infection. Hand a shiny apple over to the new face of discipline--to medicate and control. What's lost in terms of creativity is a price gladly sacrificed for a drooling obediance and a system of raised hands and single file lines in the best of the class this year.Instant relief is an instant excuse with n,o problems solved but the subject subdued. Frantic parents with trembling hands will grasp at whatever random solutions are offered presenting an easy and cost efficient solution to the many inconveniences of the unhappy child. And while a nervous calm hangs with all the integrity of a frayed thread, at least this way a solution has been found and the neighbors won't talk. Pushed as a dose, the priority is parent's convenience and not child's pain. There s no easy solutions for what's not manufactured or sold on the shelves. Now it's on your tongue, controlling thoughts under the guise of your health. If they gave you something would you take it? When they give you something will you take a dose?

Expiration: The abuses of behaviour-modifying drugs are well-documented and as American as apple pie and heartattacks. Chemical treatment for young people who fail to fit into the postcard image of the American family is irresponsible, deplorable, dangerous--and increasingly popular.How many of your peers are prescribed drugs to control their behavior?
(At Beau's request, we have included this alternative perspective to this important issue: "i'm not crazy... you're the one that's crazy..."--Suicidal Tendencies, 1984).


A STUDY IN ELITISM
When the last state is smashed and all the systems have been up'd; When the last pig's been shot and the last politician hung; When you've firebombed the final mall, spraypainted on every wall, where will fault be laid to rest? With every slogan satisfied, how many patches will be realized as mere compliments to a form of dress? Does their corruption just excuse such a one sided point of view, if, while they're fucking people over, you're too drunk to tie your shoes. The blame has been shifted so many times. Gagged is the suggestion that the fact is the fault just may come from inside.

Explanation: Political and social ideologies based soley on silk-screened patches and catchy slogans, a weak rebellion doth make.


GOOD COP, BAD COP
(*don't worry, it's not a all-cops-are-bastards song)
Who's Gonna Witness for the Good Cop? Who's Gonna Witness for the Bad Cop? Who's Gonna Make A Million Dollar Motion Picture? Who's Gonna Pay a Million Dollars just to see it? Who? You.

Explanation: This is about being fed shit for entertainment and still being happy to wait in line to pay for more of it. This is about what's on your TV, what's on your radio, what's in your magazines and your movies. The Romans had a saying about keeping the unruly masses in line. Give them Bread and a Circus and they won't raise a fuss. Today, our bellies are full and our eyes and ears are busy, but our heads are fucking empty. So stay tuned, coming soon, after the break,...etc.
(*avoid any movie where a large explosion is followed by the line, "I'm too old for this shit." also watch for he-had-one-day-left-before-retirement formulas)