Rot gut wine it make you feel fine quick.
4 dollars a bottle another five for your throttle.
Driving through a valley it steeps and it slopes
like the ebbs and the flows of stupid dreams and stupid hopes.
Rot gut wine it make a working soul quit.
Got 3 in the pen, let the one on the run run.
Running through a city so lost, so lost,
like the suburban kids hooked up on the sauce.
Rot gut wine it make the pain feel sane.
In a jacket pocket, crack it and rock it.
Jump into a bar fight bebop jazz music,
jump back in the car with the soundtrack looping.
Rot gut wine for the mad dog youth.
Hiding it from the folks with your reefer and your smokes.
Everything's alright, honey I know it ain't,
The place is full of sinners who don't care to become saints.
released October 22, 2015
Drums- Clint Landis
Guitar, Bass, Rhodes, Vox- Adrian Niles
Guitar- Rick Witkowski