Nasty's Fort (EP)

by Julian Buttersweets

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    Early 2004...I'd been listening almost entirely to the Residents, if that explains anything. This EP is dark and pretty atonal at times...I like it. Listen to it in complete darkness if at all possible.

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released April 19, 2006

All songs written and recorded by Matthew Conklin
(c) The Love Co, 2009. All rights reserved



all rights reserved


Julian Buttersweets Sacramento

Julian Buttersweets (aka Odd Moniker) is a songsmith and beatcrafter from Sacramehhhhh CA. He considers himself avant-pop royalty and expects you treat him as such. Any time you see him walking alone without a fresh hot dog in his hand, give him a pat on the shoulder, a reassuring smile and say "Hey! Tomorrow is another new day for hot dogs." He may thank you with a song. ... more

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Track Name: The Throat Slicer
Scowl in a syringe, packaged within
And tied with a ribbon shiny and thin
Predator's waiting, cursed with a hunch
Slice your throat open and re-eat your lunch

Dead upon impact, bones to the wall
Who'd have known bricks could break more than your fall?
Don't rush to get there you'll arrive soon
Salt in the wound, salt in the wound

Wherever I go, the Throat Slicer
is already there, waiting for me...

Swim in the water with a pirahnna
Asks me to dinner but I don't think I wanna
Bubble gore nightmare, blood in the sea
These four hammerhead sharks are circling me
Track Name: Nasty's Fort
Let me tell you all about Nasty's Fort
It was named after a great man
President to the Indians and Pilgrims
On Sundays he'd go hunting in the woods
And let loose the hounds
Walking up and down the stairs of Old Nasty's Fort
Butlers and maids would stomp
Calling their Master's name

And they'd always find him sleeping...
Sleeping in the forest
Lost in a dream...
His coat and his hat hung upon a nearby tree
Peat moss for pillows and the sky a blanket for his head
Bittersweet tears forming rings around the scars
That marked his face like one big fingerprint

And yet in his later life, that Old Nasty
Just locked himself in his fort
As if to barricade himself from the
Unforgiving chokehold of time...
But time...time, it must have
Slipped in through the air ducts
Down into the cellar and up through the floorboards
At the base of Old Nasty's bed
Until one night, when his muscles siezed up
And his one good eye rolled back into it's socket...
He died that night! He died that night!

Nobody visits Nasty's Fort no more...
Seems these days nobody can think of a reason
Track Name: 1-2-3-4
One, two, three, four

Shake hands with the sad old man
Got four fingers on his hand
You can count to five and he can't
And if you do, he'll get real mad

Well, Donny was a dancer, ten feet tall
He liked to play basketball
Until the day that the President passed a bill
Sent the FBI to have him killed

Well the FBI, between you and I
Don't do their jobs as planned
And when they found the boy, the men deployed
And cut a finger from his hand!

One, two, three, four
Track Name: Dear Dr. Juice
"Dear Doctor Juice,
I have had my tie on much too tight.
Again, I thought that I might
Detatch my limbs to watch a bite
Which, I'm concerned will attend
As to what you'll hear from the customers
But I can decide that I am the better"

"Dear Doctor Juice won't you send me away
To and island of riches and comfort and fame
Where a little blue airplaine will spell out my name
If you send me your products I'll mention your name"
Track Name: Catalog Queen
The Catalog Queen reads a magazine
And notices so many things that she needs
From her head to her feet she feels incomplete
So she places an order for an x-ray machine

The days in between she cleans her own spleen
Booze and caffiene though she's only thirteen
She somehow gets by, though she looks a bit lean
She and her friend Dean enjoy Norwegian cuisine

The Catalog Queen has a licence to dream
She primps and she preens until she feels pristine
Betty and Christine arrive on the scene
And tell her that she looks like a porcelain figurine

She says what she means even if it's obscene
She huffs propylene in the ladies latrine
And when she gets home she watches TV
And orders a bucket of suicide cream
Track Name: Baby's First Fuck Up
Baby's first fuck up
I've got it on tape
You'll never live it down
You'll never get away
I was the only one around
I was the first on the scene
Baby's first fuck up...
I'm glad it didn't happen to me
I'm glad it didn't happen to me
Track Name: Milk Moustache
Sometimes in the morning
Sometimes late at night
I find myself sleepwalking
Toward the kitchen light

I grab a pile of groceries
Take them to my cave
Have a bite of something
And throw the rest away
(Such a waste...)

Sometimes in the evening
When the sun goes down
I find myself digging
Further underground

I grab a pile of groceries
Take them to my cage
Have a bite of something
And throw the rest away
(Such a waste...)

Milk, milk, lemonade
Round the corner, chocolate's made

Woman with a fine mink coat
Monocle and milk moustache