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Dog's Breakfast by Dustin

SongGPT
Dog's Breakfast by Dustin - Manic Australian Punk Rock / Garage Punk music cover art

Dog's Breakfast

Manic Australian Punk Rock / Garage Punk

0:003:26
Lyrics
Description
The sound of a powerful, vaid engine revving aggressively, followed by the squeal of tyres on gravel, the main, frantic bass.
And drum groove kicks in a gruff, amused as he voice speaks over the top, full of menace.
See, the old world had rules. It had manners. Ha! We prefer it this way. Less paperwork out here. There's only one rule, if you can catch it. It's yours. Now, start runnin'.
Sunrise, bleedin' on the rust, another perfect day. Got a full tank of the good stuff, gonna blow it all away.
See a flicker on the horizon, a little plume of dust. Just a lonely traveller in a world of broken trust.
He's runnin' on fumes and hope, a truly sad display. We're runnin' on pure V8 and the thrill of the chase.
He's prayin' for a saviour, for a sign to lead him home. We're just prayin' that his ties ain't stripped down to the chrome.
Cause this is the wasteland, mate, ain't no subtle titty here. We're the kings of the ruin, the pedal down fear.
We're the diesel dogs, baby, and we're howlin' after the sun. The apocalypse, or what's the end? It's where the fun begun.
He's gettin' tired now, you can see it in his swerve. Losin' all that high and mighty pre-collapse reserve.
His fancy water purifier ain't gonna save his hide, when our bull bar's gettin' friendly with his driver's side.
He's got a car full of medicine, of batteries and grain. We got a car full of angry boys singin' in the acid rain.
He's thinkin' bout his future, bout the shelter that he'll build. He should be thinkin' bout the final blood, he spot his tank is filled.
Cause this is the wasteland, mate, ain't no subtle titty here. We're the kings of the ruin, the pedal down fear.
We're the diesel dogs, baby, and we're howlin' after the sun. The apocalypse, or what's the end? It's where the fun begun.
The main riff stops, the bass plays a swirling, distorted, phase-shifted groove. While the drums drop to a half-time, feel the vocals become a spoken word, unhindered sermon.
They cry about what they lost, the internet, the lattes, the little air-conditioned boxes they lived in. We didn't lose nothin', we were always dogs.
They just kept us on a leash now, the leash is broke, and we are bloody starving.
The band slams back in at full chaotic speed, the guitar is just feedback and noise. The drums are a furious mess of crashing cymbals.
The bass is a distorted rumble, the vocal is just a series of manic whoopin' laughs and shoutin' phrases.
Yeah!
Yeah!
Come on!
Dogs breakfast!
Cool sticks!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha!
The sound of a massive car crash, followed by the guitar feeding back into silence.
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