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Fuck the Polite

by PithyGiro

  • Cassette + Digital Album

    11 track cassette, white shell in clear case with J-Card.
    Edition of 30.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Fuck the Polite via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days
    4 remaining

      £5 GBP or more 


  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      £2 GBP  or more


Hate a Hater 02:13
Hate preacher got a hunger on Got a finger on a crooked pulse Hate preacher got a hunger on Point a finger at another cult No doubt that you've rinsed your head Mancunian morgue of the living dead Walking in the shoes of a household object We're coming up with plans that you'd never suspect Hate preacher Fumble on Your 12th Century weightlessness has seen its day We eat your words and drink your disdain A sympathy fuck in a concrete car port Five Ways in and no way out You've got orange clowns running 'round your fire Orchestrating mass brain suicide A little bit of paper on the back of your tongue Undoing what can't be undone Hate preacher got a hunger on Got a finger on a crooked pulse Hate preacher got a hunger on
You were born with a detonator You were born with a landmine heart You were born in a ziploc bag A misanthropic early start 1,2,3,4 witches... I have been to a destination I have travelled the underworld I have lived through an agitation Strong enough to make a tough man hurl Left, right, left, right witches... Tactical!
Intimate majesty Immaculate jest He wanders between The worst and the best Flaunting a hangover He found in the street Hanging on words Like hooks hang with meat Sinister handed He reclaims, you retrain Faced with self-interest And an ocean of shame Beers, steers and Tory peers He drains their beliefs Hands of mutton will press the button Cheeks of beef will seek relief He said what he said Because he meant it He plays with the rules He don't invent them The mind's not an instrument It's a private place He deals with the hand he's dealt Shoves it in the right face.
I see things coming apart in my mind not in pieces but blowing into pixels, tiny dots. people, places, things all just exploding into smaller and smaller bits then spreading out across a background that is yet to explode itself but that will in time. I'm having a digital breakdown. I feel sick.
Digging for comfort in your bed Styrofoam nightmares in your head Cut more slack than the gallows allows Loosely lipped fact checking holy cows Blond bastion, no, no, no Blond bastion, no I don't know what you see in me If I saw it myself I would saw it in three Cos the pedestal's tall, and my vertigo's real Any my balance is shit this won't end gracefully The time for truth has passed War, greed, disharmony Grab what you can't steal This battle of words won't bring relief The platform is too high And the PA is too loud My Twitter reach has gone insane And my ego has landed far too proud.
3.5 grammes in a silver pack mother grabbed her passport and packed her bag an innocent mistake can't be explained flying thc to turkey on a budget plane 15 years in a turkish cell the accidental smuggler a tale to tell the charges were too long to list she thought it was a birthday gift 15 years in a turkish cell it would be sensible now to cut her costs leave it in an ankara bin and accept the loss but she weighed it up and brought it home sauntered straight through nothing to declare alone.
He had a head for heights But his fingers did the walking He had a mouth for words But his missus did the talking He had an A to Z But it missed out B to Y He had the nerve to smile When he offered you advice He had the kind of face That you see on Crimewatch Specials A mis-match of parts Roughly human, mostly metal Percolator face Made of pieces thrown together He had a nervous smile When he offered you advice Percolator face Slobber in her face, like an excited dog It's not a good look, sort yourself out son You've got the kind of face even Grandma likes to punch As welcome as a sausage roll at a vegan lunch
Top deck princess Hi top priestess Sailed down the valley and burnt the bush Top deck princess Not her business Made up and made out and made a fuss I have seen a world of torture Pledge your first born son and daughter Put your faith in modern convenience And pray to me, pray to me, pray to me Pray to your council highness Top deck princess Low rent pen-friend She'll steal the air from a dead balloon Top deck princess Full of pretence Fluffing you up as she works the room Her trainers are filthy She dresses like trash And she will engage you in underhand tasks She has a rare talent for getting her way And heaven forbid that you get in her way She talks in riddles She dribbles in tune...
Walking around in your little bossy boots Your name's on the deeds but it don't mean shite Seeing how high you can piss up the wall Your name's on the door but it ain't spelt right Sawdust little caesar A right petty git Your empire is tiny But you're the king of it They won't let you in and you're making a fuss Everyone's turning to stare You got you want some attention at last But not for the reason you'd care...
Your skin is like egg shells Your blood is like yolk The glair is your hair And you cracked when you spoke Your face is a picture None would hang on a wall Your words are vindictive And your testicles small You marked the card No here's your gift It's the future you wanted Bend over, grit your teeth We've got another five years of austerity to squeeze up there...
All I hear is excuses Just a dirty protest A last shake of the bag Chain letter bullshit One last little hit Living for the weakened A shower of shits "Are you okay hun?" You broke the first rung On the property ladder Schnapsidie Rhapsodie Does it even matter? My friends are all kinder people than me I can't believe it's not better Overdrawn at the blood bank And half a pound of tupenny lepers Let me state this clearly Make it plain to see Which ever way you twist it What you'd like us to believe You can't change the facts Not one little bit You're not an art student You studied economics Reset the modems of doom Oxidise the gargoyles Set your sights on the moon And wade through the shallows Winky threw a wobbly - You know that shite - He screamed bloody murder And fuck the polite.


11-track debut album.

Everything on this album is comprised of a single 'improvised' guitar track, played on a Squier Telecaster through a mic'd up 1w 9v battery powered hand-built (by @blkcorecco) Mullard amplifier, occasionally with added harmonic percolator, green ringer or boss digital delay. The words are then dragged from the pages of a notebook, and rearranged so that they approximately fit the need. A few tracks also have some minimal drum programming.

Mixing is minimal, and mastering non-existent. First takes, no oven bakes.

a DIE DAS DER release. DDD18.


released July 28, 2019


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PithyGiro Birmingham, UK

Battery-powered guitar and vocal diatribes addressing the state of the world and getting lost in a state. Musically improvised then yakked over with words.

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