FPSP.WRECKS
by First Place Science Project
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Digital Album
Immediate download of 12-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.Buy Now name your price
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LIMITED EDITION CD
HAND DRAWN SHARPIE AND COLOR PENCIL ARTWORK, VARIOUS COLOR SCHEMES, HAND WRITTEN TRACK INSERT. COLORS PICKED AT RANDOM. MADE BY MATT THOMAS.
Includes immediate download of 12-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire. -
1. |
Tripwire
03:26
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2. |
Ca$h Over Friendship
04:19
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3. |
Having Defect or Fault
02:28
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5. |
Hex the Namesake
02:05
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7. |
Medium-Well Orwell
01:11
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8. |
Cosmo
03:17
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9. |
Nine Tails
02:22
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10. |
thissongissafe.vir
02:15
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12. |
A Strange Case
04:29
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about
First Place Science Project is fast-paced sound panic.
After really experimenting with their first (primary) sonic performance, the Sacramento local duo decided to dive fearlessly into the perilous world of the subconscious human psyche, specifically exploring the concept of first-person split personalities. What better way to fittingly portray such psychosis then to split the album itself in half, and enlist the support of Washington resident and friend/partner and super phenom P. Wrecks? This split discusses the Gemini nature of societal features, people, solutionless problems, etc. and comes to the conclusion that we’re all fucked.
P.S.
Peace!
After really experimenting with their first (primary) sonic performance, the Sacramento local duo decided to dive fearlessly into the perilous world of the subconscious human psyche, specifically exploring the concept of first-person split personalities. What better way to fittingly portray such psychosis then to split the album itself in half, and enlist the support of Washington resident and friend/partner and super phenom P. Wrecks? This split discusses the Gemini nature of societal features, people, solutionless problems, etc. and comes to the conclusion that we’re all fucked.
P.S.
Peace!
credits
released 29 October 2012
Matt Thomas - Production/Mixing/Mastering
p.WRECKS - Lyrics/Vocals 1-6
Cory Lockwood - Lyrics/Vocals 7-12
artwork by Nicholas Ross nthkross.blogspot.com
Matt Thomas - Production/Mixing/Mastering
p.WRECKS - Lyrics/Vocals 1-6
Cory Lockwood - Lyrics/Vocals 7-12
artwork by Nicholas Ross nthkross.blogspot.com
tags
license
all rights reserved
feeds
feeds for discography
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Oct 2012 -
Sep 2012 -
Jan 2012
contact / help
For help with downloads, click here.
For all other inquiries, including help with merch, click here.
Redeem download codes here.
- Track Name: Tripwire
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I'd like to welcome you all to the dog daze of bummer/ where everyone is looking like they're all jogging in place with their shoe's laced together/ and I'm a cleric, NOT/ but got this burial plot/ burying em' on the spot/ oh, there he goes again with ways to dispose of foes/ waste disposal to opposable action figurines/ you're just a doll in a plastic submarine/ Rap is a fucking cash machine and soon they'll be selling plaster casts of me/ caskets I mean, one size fits all with lifetime limited warranties/ shoplifted off the top of his dome/ cut holes to see through, then wore the wool around like a zoro mask/ You give all the power to the disgruntled evil bastards and what the fuck did you think was gonna happen?/ all chomping at the bit to be in charge of your price of freedom/ pledge allegiance to the eagle you are eating and believe whatever you read/
has our light became darkness barking up the wrong tree/ meanwhile we stash beats and trash empty meanings/ talk is cheap, sleeping in is easy/
Cobra hoods ain't bluffing/ still giving a fuck about something or another/ whatever you wanna call it/ dead weighted trap with a wallet at the end of the tripwire/
Cobra hoods ain't bluffing/ still giving a fuck about something or another/ whatever you wanna call it/ dead weighted trap with a wallet at the end of the tripwire/
Cobra hoods ain't bluffing/ still giving a fuck//
High fashion marked down mock up of a molotov/ all talk mall cops, stomp on that thin ice on that pond they tip toe on/ or walk around briskly/ crack and fracture a placid fragile passion/ or lack there of/ just record what I'm putting down/ til' they put me down, emerald hood put me up/ just for the hip-hop movement's loss of momentum/ though disorder distorted our orbits ordinance a bit/ a bit of disruption to the loitering/
un-organized boy bandwagon organizations/ I avoid at all costs for the simple sake of avoiding them/ Made friends with the soil three fold over some earl vapors and kiwi fruit juice/ staying six steps ahead of that clown shoe cadense that's all the rage these days/ just fucking stomping in the break til it's concave/ sorry my science project failed and blew up in your face/ "no I'm not" - Track Name: Ca$h Over Friendship
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It goes Ca$h over/ Ca$h over friendship apparently/ synthetic over naturally organicaly grown/ more manic then before this door closed now it's dead bolted/
and if I see you, you'll leave bedridden/ head barely balancing on those shoulders the way I break your fucking neck/
Yah dig?
should of never trusted humans enough to learn their given names in the first place/ Blank dirty paper plate faces tailored in that grey scale of failure/ lets hope they get that slow death coming to them running/ can't fucking explain myself anymore than that without the pen becoming stress fractured/ communicate through impractical fractals/ TIcal/ method's over stimulated a limited attention to detail/ Something else to look down your snout at/ ass backwards kicking verses from earth's mantle/ scramble the signal trample the anthill/ scramble the signal trample the anthill/
It goes Ca$h over/ Ca$h over friendship apparently/ synthetic over naturally organicaly grown/ more manic then before this door closed now it's dead bolted/
It goes Ca$h over/ Ca$h over friendship apparently/ synthetic over naturally organicaly grown/ more manic then before this door closed now it's dead bolted/
From the eye of a funnel cloud/ of everyone giving the run around/ let by be bygones? No thanks I'll stick to my colonies of mycellium/ get with the program, a gram of hash to obtain this broken focus/ so broke I could be homeless, homely ham hock, herby hancock/ curb stomping stop signs walking off all the side talk/
the way I get down, going nowhere lugging luggage full of nothing but knuckle dusters/ and this duffle bag of fungi for you kids that used to like to huff duster/ all the effort I could muster goes into every one of em'/ every single one of em'/ I crush shit like your eyes crust up/ They can't rhyme so resorting to violence/ my last resort just destroy em'/ and contorting every extremity til it breaks off/ preying on odd break beats in an endless stand off between the voiceless many in my head/ and any given project on any given day/ though there's no formula for this science/ Metaphoricaly I'm over head/ lets hope these smog clouds/ cloud your judgement/
Underground is overcrowded/ stick to the nooks and cranies/
It goes Ca$h over/ Ca$h over friendship apparently/ synthetic over naturally organicaly grown/ more manic then before this door closed now it's dead bolted/
It goes Ca$h over/ Ca$h over friendship apparently/ synthetic over naturally organicaly grown/ more manic then before this door closed now it's dead bolted/
and if I see you, you'll leave bedridden/ head barely balancing on those shoulders the way I break your fucking neck - Track Name: Having Defect or Fault
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Crowded lines of lemons sold as is/ as in what you see is what you get/ complete with manufacturing defects/ Discounted down to nearly affordably priced payments/ mis-matched paint, dents, and chips/ with stained interiors like paper or plastic, or even gift wrapped it's still just shit slapped in a fem-napkin/ come graze aisle upon aisle of your favorite records skipping uncontrolably/ where all the headphones are those earbuds you can barely hear out of/ and it's all in digital format/ just plug your dongle in input your pin and away you go/ get this pack of 90 pens half off/ Dry up the second you take the cap's off/ Keyboard's stuck in caps-lock/ chords aren't quite long enough/ powersupply's not strong enough to run/ the burnt micro-chips/ micro water pipes that burn your nose hair/ rotten potted indoor house plants/ books with whole chapters missing/ unpastuerized flash frozen flows manufactured in an unsterile enviroment/
Quantity over Quality/ What's commonly considered tasty/ This is fucking raw cut straight from the carcass/
Quantity over Quality/ What's commonly considered tasty/ This is fucking raw cut straight from the carcass/
Utilizing every cut/ slowly over an open pit of smoldering coals/ microphone coated with char/ rotisserie bars/ sliced it thick/ but bit off more than you could chew and no body in this room would try to help you if you were to choke/ waiter there's a fly in my soup/ fly in my soup/ two scoops of arsenic with arsenic for garnishing/ gimme that hand tossed deep dish with two pounds of cheese and one eighth of these please/ than brace for the tracers from the after taste/ to the spaced out stay in shell's still decaying/ melting martian cartoon faces on fermented milk cartons long forgot/ Creating everyday with no reason needed to do so/ these fucking bird brains can hate til they're blue in the face/ P - demagnetizes heads with psychedelia/ predominately improvised/ according to experience/ living in this cosmic nod-off/
Blazing blue haze still ain't lazy up late awake/ lately, barely keeping in contact with gravity/ scavaging digital gravel waist deep in another break/ - Track Name: Dr.Shopperz pt.1 (Over the Counter Artists)
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they try to doctor it up,
self medicated people pleasers with numb tendrils/ gonna need sixteen drills just so the concept will sink in/
they try to doctor it up,
self medicated people pleasers with numb tendrils/ gonna need sixteen drills just so the concept will sink in/
to their numb skulls/ they don't want anything they think through/ unless they can snort, smoke, or drink the feelings/ so here/ taste what went into the mixture/ then they'r stealing the recipes/ putrid mass producing with no knowledge of what hunger is/ work from home vultures/ wouldn't want to hurt your thirsty beaks/ precaution this discourages regular sleep patterns/ steeping my psychosis in the beat then just go with it/ the circle has been closing in/ so now I grow them myself in hyper seclusion/ with something or another to fuck my line of vision up/ Myself, living addicted to that raw stuff that comes in zip-locks/ so who the hell am I to say?//
What are those things can I get one?
Doctor Shopperz, hey man you holding anything?/
Doctor Shopperz,Doctor Shopperz/know where I can get a bag?
Doctor Shopperz, Doctor Shopperz/ cmon man I need some meds/
they try to doctor it up/ over the counter artists/ an over flowing compartment full of containers of packing peanuts ready for shipping/
they try to doctor it up/ over the counter artists/ an over flowing compartment full of containers of packing peanuts ready for shipping/
delivery driver's caught slipping/ by the ferocious fur coat wrapping around their throat/ strangle hold til rendered unconcsiess/ Condin-Salivation/ Salvation army razor bladed cadense I rock/ But not on some check it out man/
The sub bass sounds the best from a sub basement/ Yes, face melting ponderings found to be too abrasive/ for the public unresponsive/ Chronic Vomitting chronicals no vale nada/ no value in gold boulion/ pockets fucking bulging with pages upon pages/ doesn't earn a living wage though so mace em' all/ dripping faces of critics critiqing their own reflextions in the puddle of piss steaming in a toilet you wouldn't even want to flush with your foot/ - Track Name: Hex the Namesake
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On analog Manually get open more often/ always recording cuz sanity's over capacity almost always/ out of my fucking broken canopy/ "you could say"/ too broke to toke on bowls casually/ me and my Malory and the mutt for company and protection from this peanut gallery/ of frauds, hustlers, rackateers, corrupt as the government's pupeteer is/ this volunteer bombadier doesn't need landing gear for this/ missing in evasive distraction/ roughneck carrying into action all in fists/ following through with planned attacks on planet we're better than you/ from my cocoon's point of view through a downward periscope dropping clusters of carpet bomb barrack busters/ from a Sopwith tri-plane sputtering profanity/ stopping for no ones nonsensical blabbering/
Nothing left but wreckage/ hense the namesake, forsaken/
Nothing left but wreckage/ hense the namesake, forsaken/
This is finding sucess while laid off from the daily grind polishing this doomed megalopolis/ Matt from first place science hooked it up/ by sampling the duustiest record from the sour milk bin for this one/ sentence written with the thickest chisel tip/ been the hypest apparition holding this shit for ransom/ not just some failing sales pitch for fishscale like who wants some? "no one"/
two for flinching took a swing but missed it/ took another shattered the aluminum and still hit it out of the trailerpark/ how to overdose on the retro undertones/ in order to wade through this automatic man made/ but still nothing moves the youth/ all respect to the unacknoledged/ can't keep my tentacles out of this petting zoo/
Nothing left but wreckage/ hense the namesake, forsaken/
Nothing left but wreckage/ hense the namesake, forsaken/ - Track Name: Dead Men Talk too Much ft. Texture
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Texture, a bastard born of polyphonic sorcery
Self-absorbed polymath, black clouds follow me
And no I'm not sorry because a mind is a terrible thing to taste
Skyscraper, villain caper, mind control telemetry
Bump these fractal tapes and peep our Panther Modern poetry
Dermasoft, dermabrasion, cleft enclave abuser
Who's the dopest horrorshow, who's the prettiest loser
Fusion mindmeld compensate for jetpacks, fuck a rocketship
Spinner in an arc ascension, hotwire your floating whip
Phantasmagoric infographics and slasher Venn diagrams
Evaporate like nanotech GPS packages tracking packaged grams
Infected entheogen, vomit on your nossphere, remain numinous
Luminous like unsigned GIFs, my thoughts enlarge the datamesh
Sing a song of Gilgamesh, pre-flood population control
Swollen like a member gets on porous border patrol
Self-appointed propagandists, high-explosive languages
I'm in the cloud like anthraxx, imminent like Al-Qaeda packages
Auto-add all code compiled from xenographic matrixes
I need to balance the equasion, because I stink like dead waitresses
p.WRECKS and Texture flip the scripture for the liberation
All your base are belong to us so submit, accept invasion
p.WRECKS -
panoptic wrecks,
something like a head on collision involving two 18 wheelers weighed down with the by-products of nuclear fission/ with so much Surplus Substance at critical mass/ anything within' hearing distance damaged by the radio active emissions of the elements/
NAW i just press play to get through things I usually couldn't/
without the talking too much truth on dead tapes I'd just pace around the single wide I occupy/
Generation Y Generation House flys with dilated pupils and vibrant minds just trying to scrape by/
Students of the exhausted scribe, passing water pipes and distorted perceptions/
Cuz the reality is most this shit/ redundant / no need to read up on it to make that kind of educated guess/
Don't you feel enlightened? (i guess)
Detonate Expressions/
Frustrated in the realm of desolate experimentation/
Where innovation goes to lie it's tired broken mind / when it becomes over whelmed by the all the lines laced into a single joint/
Sanity becomes a crumbling shanty/ home is where the art hangs/ you should hear the shit the walls talk abouot you when you're away/
for the missed companions who've fell out from the waylay before the sand filled their bass/
bass/ spilling a bucket of paint on a brand new canvas/ "that can just be the vanishing point of the landscape, can't it?" x2/
Pack a cannon cuz fine details are usually makes the biggest mess of things/ Lately try to keep the final composition as organic as possible/
recipes from scratch by memory/ get out the fine plastic look like we're having company/ (I hope they're hungry) - Track Name: Medium-Well Orwell
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Fahrennheit 4:51 o’clock, all is ticking, no one’s talking
All the books are burnt and the media is chalking it up to an accident
A governmental misstep, call it governmental illness
Burn the books, kick down the doors and kill the witnesses
Never send an arsonist to burn down a pyrokinetic
“Can I kill it,” asked the fire and I let it.
Let the heat take the flesh and the crows take the rest.
Post-hardcore, I’m post-apocalypse.
Dumpster, mansion, red carpet alleyway, king of the vagrants, prince of assailants.
All I have are titles.
Anyway, I like it this way, I’d like it to stay dirty, grimy, dark anarchy, rotten, urban decay
Always send an anarchist to settle fights and bouts where you’re betting
Nothing changes. Constant winner, different setting.
Let the world go to rest when they give up their best. - Track Name: Cosmo
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If my alter ego’s praying to the altar of my ego, self-sacrificing skin, is it pious? Is it evil? Does it matter which side of the coin I pick if it gets flipped into space; floats forever further at a constant, spinning steady pace?
“No, but that’s my anti-matter of opinion, like it or not,” so I said to myself, in a room by myself and as opinions exchanged, both of my own selves fought.
Self 1 took the other by the throat and as he proceeded to choke his victim, self 2 swung and barely missed him, felt his respiratory system failing and started flailing and got lucky.
Space is the final frontier and we’re here. Space is the final frontier and we’re fearless.
Satellite, satellite, satellite, caught in a battle, fight or war; it was a one on one match. Whoever won, I won and whoever lost, I lost, paid the cost and reaped the benefits. Self 1 was still winning it. He had broken most my bones and they were floating in a zero-G chamber. All of a sudden, the second part of myself stopped feeling hurt and began to feel anger. Which means, DANGER, DANGER, Will Robinson is fucked! Danger, danger, the advantage has swung. The advantage has swung. In a huge leap for self 2, small hope for self 1. Fuck the moon, we’re landing on the sun.
Rip in the suit, I’m losing oxygen and fading. There goes another rip in time and now I’m lost again and wading. Disturbing stargated communities with klaxons and lasers, ignoring settings on our phasers, killing everyone. I’ve got a twin blood moon mind with a duality that is anything but into neutrality, but as for brutality,, oh fuck yeah I’m for it! Let’s get every planet in the galaxy warring!
Star system shutdown, evacuate please. Star system crashing, get down on your knees.
As brain cells divide, I’m tempted to hide but closed quarters make it hard to find sanctuary. Trying Morse codes and maydays and getting busy signals. What the fuck! Does NASA not have call waiting? Self two has one and self one has zero for a pulse but it would seem the fight is over. I doubt that this victory by self-inflicted injury will leave a pleasant taste in my mouth so I am over and out. - Track Name: Nine Tails
- Because I'm lacking the evidence, it seems I can't run through and ransack your residence SWAT-style with a mile long team of bastards, breakers, bloodthirsty snatchers and shakers; put a finger on your lip asking not to wake the neighbors. Don't have a warrant but if I wait and pick a night when it's pouring, slipping silent and slick into the second story, things might get a little gory. That's just a warning. I've got a list of every one of your deeds. Like St. Punisher Nick, I'm here to force the bleed. You will regret what you've done but not as much as you'll regret not owning a gun. You're just a tally mark, unmoving heart. Crossed off, left in the dark. Because I'm lacking my memories...what was I saying? Because I'm lacking my...what the fuck was I just saying? Did you deserve it? I could have sworn I had you figured for a very bad, very filthy person. I can't remember now. It's all a blur and when I focus on recalling it, my head just hurts. I played the vigilante but I wasn't well equipped. The least appropriate doctor is the one who's sick. The executioner is playing judge and jury, flipping coins and calling heads or tails. You should be scared, you should be worried; so unbalanced is his scale. I turned a moving heart into a tally mark, erased a light bulb from the ever-growing dark. Oh god, how did this start?
- Track Name: thissongissafe.vir
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Fully-decorated member of the information super highway patrol and retired
Antivirus software expired and as the mainframe goes, you realize you should have spent more time admiring wires
Y2K generation, coaxial axe stable locked in the basement, handles of Black Label, losing sensation, what a losing engagement
Every window minimized, every door is firewalled, once a hero, vilified, lost it all
Fuck! Ctrl-alt-del my appointments, I just don’t see what the point is but I’m working on it
Circuit waterboarding for torture, my interrogation method is horror
Binary code has taken over my life, zeros, ones carved into my skin by a knife
Suicide note on a floppy disk, Google maps doesn’t know where my body is, just please don’t save or copy it, hope my secrets are password-protected
Complex like the design, leaving nothing to find or hack into or keep it simple, leaving no witness behind
Disappearing is always expected - Track Name: Dr.Shopperz pt.2 (Surgeon General Warning)
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Doctor shopperz! Morphine drips at 2 for 1 offers.
Doctor shopperz! Black Friday rush, prescription pill poppers.
Leaned back in attack helicopters, crosshairs of my rail guns locked on to the top of
A coffee shop
Who’s the new teeny-bopper? The hipster.
Lana Del Rey: you’re the new Cyndi Lauper
Where’s the doctor? I’m locked in the waiting room, drunk on cough syrup, hopped up, deflating
Like balloons, once you get to the ceiling, you’ve peaked
Get inhaled by the next generation
Star Trek-themed Prozac,
Boldly feeling what no man has felt before
Stealing products that I think would help me more
Passed out, chalk outline on the floor
Wait a second, not chalk but crushed up pills
And sugar at that, it’s placebo effect
Self-medicating my fever and chills
Dose of Viagra to keep me in check
Clear the way, I’m a doctor and I heard you were shopping for
Ya gotta trust me, I’m a doctor and somebody once told me that you guys were
Doctor shopperz! Red-eyed, cracked out doctor shopperz! Fucked up, blacked out doctor shopperz! Beat down, jacked up doctor shopperz!
Defibrillator hands, I get your heart racing
Stethoscope gold chain, is that a thing yet?
I hit the nitrous, telling jokes to all the surgeons, bumming smokes and all the urgent calls are dying
I hear their wives/husbands crying
Where’s the insurance check, cash it quick, it determines the car that I’m driving
See ya next time and good luck on surviving!
Doctor, doctor, give me the news! I’ve got a bad case of a pre-existing condition
No money, just ammunition
No conscience, no inhibitions
Put him under, strap him down and get a scalpel
I need my patient dead stat
The Hippocratic oath is really just a mouthful
I had my fingers crossed when I said it!
If you get sick just run for the border
Privatized health care, new world order
New surgery, drawn and quartered
Will you get better? Well, sort of - Track Name: A Strange Case
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Cigarette, drag in, hold, release
Real fairy tales, the dragon’s not the beast
The princess knows who harmed her, her knight in shining armor’s drunk again and forceful, her skin is white, cracked porcelain
Let’s play a little Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde & Seek
Cryogenic freeze tag in the laboratory, losers go to sleep forever
I’m into alchemy, turn gold into receipts
I’m into chemistry, let’s get into your shhhheets
I feel a change coming
I feel a change coming
Molecular reassignment therapy, cellular meltdown, synaptic disparities
The helix snapped and wriggling back together to form what never
Should have crawled out of that glass womb of a test tube, made it safely down my throat in cocktail form and go to nesting there
I’m losing lots of air
I’m losing lots of things but gaining fear
I can’t get out of here
Is that the exit sign? It used to be so legible.
Now all I wonder is if anything is edible.
What will and will not scream when I hunt down and bite it?
I found a thing that screams and god, I fucking like it.
I know you’re terrified but you should know you’re running in vain
Not sure where you think you’re going, I think you’re going insane-sane
Just give me your brain, I promise you won’t feel a thing
I’m your knight
In shining
Armor and I’ve never hurt you before
Let go of the weapon, please
Why are you shaking
I’m down on my hands and knees
And I am praying and begging you
I am just saving you
And that’s when she brought the axe down right between my eyes
There’s no I love you with fear in your voice
There’s no I love you with fear in your voice
You know I loved you, but didn’t have a choice
Now all I have are black thoughts and white noise
