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Blastmaster Baker vs the Human Being Lawnmower


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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Digipak CD featuring b&w Lawnmower cover variant. Cover photo by Cory Endress. Inner photo by Paul Escamilla. Layout by Headtrip and Baker.

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  • Cassette + Digital Album

    High-bias cassette in transparent red-dead w/ full-color cover variant. Cover photo by Cory Endress. Layout by Headtrip.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Blastmaster Baker vs the Human Being Lawnmower via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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BBVHBL Intro 00:40
Lawn Jobs 01:58
Bet they got panzers In the garage Behind sixteen hundred Penn Back Where Barry snuck squares And Georgie Boy huffed guzzoline Nixon's man cave Where he watched the Redskins - his favorite team - Fascist brows on fleek Smacking lips and feasting On fistfuls of people meat Cleaned his cheeks with neatly stacked Maps of Cambodia Cackled as he clapped and thought chop chop chop Chop chop chop CHOP CHOP CHOP Goes the human being lawnmower Through the human being crop Chop chop chop chop chop Big swinging Dick doing me doing pretty hot 1968 was pretty sweet, HUH? Chop chop chop chop chop He’s got vivid fantasies of Big axes and little trees Summer eves in the suburbs Sweating in yellow-pitted white tees Sipping on six times one dozen OZs Of that cheap Cream City swill sauce Mowing the lawn Getting off on getting caught Choking the Tecumseh two-stroke Turn and cough CHOP CHOP CHOP Maybe creepy Mikey's conversion therapy Will discourage Tricky Dick From getting fisted During lurid prison sex with Kissinger In the bowels of hell For public entertainment In a stadium resembling the LA Coliseum. Are you offended yet? Well that's just locker room talk for the unacquainted Don't be such a sissy there's no such thing as safe spaces In an age of quarrel World peace is the ultimate paradox Chop chop chop chop chop But either way Here's a roll call for all The civically engaged Christians Nixon went to hell Reagan went to hell Herbert Walker gonna go to hell Cheney gonna go to hell the Clintons gonna go to hell But the cherry top will be When Sweet D goes to hell He'll be Sexually assaulted By Mephistopheles in hell And if I'm wrong Then so is your religion Or is “Blessed are the peacemakers” Just a marketing initiative I was conceived to be the most elite blasphemer Lebron james is Jesus Christ, JR Smith is St. Peter Chop So Let's go to D.C. Let's smoke some good weed Let's drink and drive and conspire to Give em all LAWN JOBS Tire treads LAWN JOBS Mailboxes LAWN JOBS Ball bats LAWN JOBS Fire crackers LAWN JOBS Toilet paper LAWN JOBS Spoiled eggs LAWN JOBS Flaming sacks LAWN JOBS of dog crap LAWN JOBS And take the Neighborhood back
Hot Shot 03:14
Was it done In cold blood Or as a random act of mercy Randle P McMurphy Curveball snapping off LIKE A FUCKING FIRECRACKER the warmest love among us Comes from above from the mother of all bombs Megaton hot shot Hot and getting hotter Garbage pile Private isle in the sun Just this once Just for fun Annie get your gun Annie are you OK? Yo Annie did they stomp On your China white With fentanyl Will they print your face On the page Or will they sell the space In the daily sentinel Next to where they Make mention of your parents' incomes All the news that's fit to print Pick 3s and calling hours Well hully gee, here's to you Lights out, reset the router Lisa said They have the plant But We have the power Lisa said They have the plant But We have the power In the holder is a cold one In the console is the heater And he's parked across the street From where he used to sleep He needs it IT’S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER IT’S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER They say The devil's in the deets try to keep em outta reach By whatever means Never let em hear ya scream IT'S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER IT'S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER Heartland Triple bypass Diet Cola, old Grand dad, and ice tall glass Barkeep, Back me up My main man, pour me out An old friend Its harrowing My Television telling me It's the beginning of the end we should just be Great again Ooh that pig is radiant Everyone’s on heroin Americana harakiri Bury me at wounded knee Cat food, brew, huffin glue Footloose and fancy free The noose The news paper salutes Barbeque weekend fancy feasts and destitute Viet nam amputee Change in a Paper cup VA never gave a fuck candy stripers And opioids And agent orange Press your luck Live your truth What's the use? Flew the coop Baby boom Party down Psilocybin Mushroom cloud Not even the Loudest boomers Could remove us from their punitive amusement Russian roulette Chambers loaded Count is bloated Two down and Runners moving In the holder is a cold one In the console is the heater And he's parked across the street From where he used to sleep He needs it IT’S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER IT’S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER And The devil's in the deets And they keep em outta reach By whatever means Make sure they hear you scream IT’S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER IT’S HOT AND GETTING HOTTER
Kayfabe Days 03:37
Hey baby Oh baby My babyface maintain kayfabe or We don't get paid These days our vacant space Escapes us I ain't got no guarantee I ain't got the heart to take a bump So instead I took three Off a key and dealt with That irregular thump Palpitations Made in the USA Approved by the food and drug Administration Twice a day When you wake up When you fade When you labor When you play When you ruminate On who they've made A heel or a face Yeah they say Idle hands do devil’s work Not construct or create So they keep you occupied As jobber on the take Right and proper Slobberknockers They can break a man in two Good god almighty Don’t stop fighting For contracts and new boots I don’t think about it Baby please just hit me clean I’m so ‘bout it, ‘bout it Give ‘em what they paid to see I don’t think about it Collect my check every week And tell ‘em please Hit me hit me hit me hit me Crash crash crash the pose Have a cat nap in your clothes Grab a snack and get back in your zone You dont ever need to go home Cause at home you just pick up the phone You're so lonely but you're never on your own So take your licks And see what sticks And if you can't get over Kick the habit In your hotel bed, alone Feeling less and less like yourself a life that's not your own You're a bit more like a clone Yeah a bit more like a clown pattern down Repeat until loser leaves town I don’t think about it Baby please just hit me clean I’m so ‘bout it, ‘bout it Give ‘em what they paid to see I don’t think about it Collect my check every week And tell ‘em please Hit me hit me hit me hit me Well I've been sequestered down in Texas Attempting to address all these questions I've been Wrestling with guessing which beds you've slept in Your most recent nights of passion Oh, I'm so enlightened tell myself You're a sweetheart So I keep part of the best parts Of our thing But actually I'd really rather Not step back in the ring Ill cut good promos I'll work the mic Stick to the script Say all the right things So I don't mean this out of spite but I hope you've found all the makings Of a much more interesting life Experiential tourism Is at its all-time height And I swear I'm not being Overly dramatic when I say If you use the word wanderlust I'll take a razorblade straight to my face And wrap Barbed wire 'round my fucking eyes Cause I've seen through this plate glass Window Before it got cracked over my dome I got no tricks up my sleeve Not keeping nothing under the apron I'm playing this one straight up Don't think I can keep faking it Id rather Smoke weed Burn bridges Hate everyone And love you this world is cruel But hey, until I blacked out It was a dream come true
Keep the faith Pray that one day May you know The name and face of your savior Your lily white Nordic Christ In the form of a bright flash on the horizon The unbearable lightness Tiki torches on the Mid-Atlantic Blood-sucking pests Descend at summer’s' end Show no remorse for smashed mosquitoes After they bite These cities have burned (We don’t need no water God would save us if he wanted to) And they may yet burn again (Burn motherfucker, burn motherfucker, purge motherfucker) Fire and fury (We don’t need no water God would save us if he wanted to) Like the world has never seen Lt Headtrip: Eat my flesh. Drink of my blood. Chug. You’re only whole with my spirit within you. Let this be a lesson to all my beloved original sinners. The children of powerful men were made in my image; enslaved by my visage. Say grace before dinner. Take the hand of your fellow believer and be grateful you’ve witnessed my immaculate, masculine, radiant lineage. What a privilege. These cities have burned (We don’t need no water God would save us if he wanted to) And they may yet burn again (Burn motherfucker, burn motherfucker, purge motherfucker, make us pure) Fire and fury (We don’t need no water God would save us if he wanted us to prosper. A cleansing slaughter...) Like the world has never seen one-way street In a one-horse town With one-way people Tryna mow us down Domestic terrorist Fuck your heritage Fuck your haircut Your DARE shirt and Your merit badge Slow death to proud boys And swift death to their proud dads Fascist attitudes Wanted a world for you one day The dream you were taught That you wanted Through raps of the knuckles A lash of the belt And a taste of the only love You’ve ever felt Oh well Domestic terrorist Fuck your heritage
Ring ring ring Answer the phone Nobody there Just a dial tone You’re home alone And you’re panic-prone Dryness in throat Cause you’re up in smoke You feel your pulse But you ain’t even checking Feel a cold breeze on the back of your neck and Count how many hours of your life Been spent on the load screen Potent weed seeds dopamine And leave you emoting Making faces like the wee bey gif Can’t believe this shit How easy it gets To lose the gamble, Lose your face New blank generation Taking up space We kowtow bow down To the loud mouths Drink from the downspout It’s a cold world and We’re shitting in the outhouse Are you now Or have you ever been about Burning ivory towers down And turning all the power out? Are you now Or have you ever been A part of the pageantry Absent, lapsed into madness Clapping and laughing At the flashes and sounds of concussive blasts Are you now Or have you ever been Mutually assured of destruction And our collective comeuppance We’re dead meat for the buzzards But we want them to love it Are you now or have you ever been Stoned and starving Roaming alone through the darkness Blowing out your eardrums To the sounds of the Karmas? (Burnem) Are you now Or have you ever been In possession of evidence Of any alien intelligence Any type of information That might lead Someone who didn’t know better To question the fucking relevance The wise will not trifle With the elements Piss into the wind And fire rifles at the televisions Pipe down, swallow your medicine And medicate with the rest Of the disciples till armageddon hits You’re so dependent On your independent sentiments So sentimental and Sensitive with your temperaments Get so defensive when we go To raise your rent a bit Don’t make us have to show you The discipline as it benefits (???) Sentinel, sentinel eye Ever watchful So smile for the cinema Raining down out of digital skies Keep your face glued and Stay tuned to your antenna Are you now Or have you ever been willing To forget all of your Affiliations To maintain against the grain To abstain from waking up And tasting artificial maple flavored candy covered bacon We’ve sugar-coated every last grain On this animal farm Where they label us free range And we’re twisted by the arms To spin satisfying yarns On the obituary page Will you die with a flag in your hand And a hymn in your heart And the blinking light of The alarm cutting through the dark? You can’t hit restart You can’t build an ark You can’t find a place to park You can’t play your cards Will you play your part In clogging up carotid arteries In cutting O2 to the brain ‘Scuse me, pardon me I got a job to do Please move there’s a lot of me Living off beef and broccoli Praying to hit the lottery
Knee Deep 02:13
How many war metaphors about you Can I use when I'm home all alone Fanning flames inhaling fumes Knee deep in the shores of hell But hey, enough about me How are you? If you're free and feeling needy Well I'm willing to be used I’ll let ya look right through me Talk to me like ya never knew me I'll be anything you need Oh you're out here coolin Making every single dude look foolish tell me what you want from me I'm slowly being ripped apart Surviving on the fields of Mars Out here searching for the Keys to your heart It's driving me crazy I'm going berserk Don't wanna have no fun Don't wanna work Don't wanna think about you and your new guy I'm sure he's cute but he Could never be your doom guy I been runnin down my demons with a loaded gun I been so lonely hoping that I'm not the only one Like a good catholic boy you got me on my knees My preferred deadly sin is greed and I just wanna kiss your feet Oh pretty please my pretty green alien queen I'm just a man A feeble being Flesh and bone and eating Empty words I keep repeating It's no use My perfect future was your cute tough cherry red leather boots Stomping on my human face forever
Blastmaster Baker Cro-Magnon man dragged through the streets Parade on the day of his feast Sacrifice! depravity tastes like a treat A sign of his faith Or A mark of the beast? Either way - fait accompli Pass him the ashtray Lay palms at his feet Castigate Man who defaults on his lease And appease Man the Beast With the absence of Meat Stay vigilant Stay stations of the cross Stay making listicles Stay placing faith in symbols Stay crucifix, swastika, star stripe hammer sickle Stay indivisible stay pissed Stay pagan rituals stay Reagan youth Stay meatless monday Stay verdun Stay human meat grinder Stay Sid stay Nancy stay Say No To Drugs Stay play the game the right way Stay the fuck home SKECH185 Liquor Store hologen hums with the pastors. I'm numb to the ranting. They branded us Hammites. And sanded down statues. Now stranded in madness. With foreign Modonnas, the bronzemans fortune has been masonry. Patiently building a fortress of of banners and Bannikers. This mystery sheepherder is panicking. He walks by himself. The flocks is at the range and checking each other for fangs. Long gone is the time to "Play Dead." On a stage we built play dead in the land of these wolves trying pay rent. Or "play dead" in a room full of efforts to get famous for neighbors because sometimes when we "play dead" we don't get back up. No treats, just treatments when we "play dead" praying for a slow week or play dead artist trying to explain a living struggle. Or the jungle to a tourist who thinks saying "play dead" deserves a pat on the head. Lt Headtrip 95 diatribes nailed to the doors of the shrine to your paleo lord. Heretic. Displayed in his arian form, he domineers under a veil of decor. Profiteers robed to the horns. So Pope he could dodge sheer war crime horror. Fear. Blessed is he who obeys the appointed. Spayed in the name of creation and glory. You shake in the presence of your maker. You tremble. Living is reprehensible. Citizens are expendable. Your reverend’s sins are venerable. Give him a shake. Shake my divine primate paws and your habitual individualism. The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness while his toiling soldiers shake in their braces and shake their fists at their ventriloquist whose tremors shake loose their embroidery. Born again militants poorly stitched together. Shake it off. Kill for this.
Pulled up to the house And I cut the lights Left my car in your Neighbors driveway that night You said something bout splittin But I was not listening just wanted to be your coping mechanism And see what we Could possibly get to that night I know that you know That we won’t be home No matter where we go It’s all for show You slept on the couch I slept on the floor I never slept much When I slept on that floor We took communion Then I split for bed stuy You said goodbye twice I hoped you'd turn a third time But instead I ended up window shopping For pretty city girls I’m so drunk tonight I know that you know That we won’t be home No matter where we go It’s all for show I burned out the days I burned out the nights And I'm burnt out right now As I sit down to write As you fight the good fight As an act of contrition I'd contribute my fists But they're of no assistance I know they won't help you And I know you don't need them I don't believe in Kings or Queens and See why you're leaving But I still walk past your place If I find a reason I'm seeking asylum Or my Height With Friends shirt Sweet freedom Stupid human There's futility in trying But nobility in losing Wanna be your muse for brutal executions And a useful tool For your 45 Revolutions
It’s damn cold for late April This damn winter’s been hateful It’s a rainy day and we’re miles away From making acquaintances with pay dirt Good thing i wore a few layers And inhaled quite a few vapors To take me away from this vacant state Before going the way of the evening paper The buffalo, my catholic faith, darth vader The common trait is they all Came face to face with abatement Is that a harsh statement or plain observation About the way our man appears this day As he is found in nature Playing a game of space invaders In his brain — let them take the sky scrapers It might make us safer Might make us a little bit safer Might make us a little bit safer Make those whole place a little bit safer So when we’re caught in the rain And the motherfucking thunder I stare at the sky and i start to wonder Where will i be standing When the high rises tumble? Where will i be standing When the sidewalks crumble Will there be any time to run When it rumbles Will i die in the ruins Of the concrete jungle Will i sleep easy in the catacombs Deep beneath the street Wondering how many times Has it happened previously We’ve been brought to our knees Time is infinite, man, Am i to believe That there hasnt been a million New york cities pre-2018? Sucka pleas Whether we step on skulls or We walk on water We better maintain An upright posture It separates us from the apes And helps you sell your fucking tapes When all the other rappers won’t bother It might make us harder Might make us a little bit harder Might make us a little bit harder Make this whole place A little bit harder So when we’re caught in the rain And the motherfucking thunder Staring at the skies And we’re left to wonder Can we take solace knowing there are others Struggling to maintain a Place to take cover Struggling to maintain a Face that stays tougher Struggling to grasp That its all a game of numbers And we’re just beads on an abacus With deep-seeded avarice Basking in the hataclaps And laughing at our cowardice So we don’t feel so powerless When looking at an hourglass And yapping about how Grains, ashes, dust and cliches Will devour us That’s that good shit That loud shit That fire and brimstone Beyond thunderdome Fury road Cataclysmic shit And youre too legit To quit movin kid
The sign on I-77 said Hell Is Real I was dissecting Ohio I said where you the fuck you been? 29 going on forever Known that vengeful gods Tend to live along rural highways Evaluation day The key word here is values Values! So they treat us to The sweetest dead aborted baby fetus photos They can dream up To beef up good fear Start with mirepoix for your Human meat stew I could teach you What it looks like when your Skin is see-through I've been seeking a new test In how many ways can we say "Bad things" and "mike Pence" In the same sentence Better ask the NSA If that's ok to say I truly don't know But what's free speech mean besides A discharge song And the right to hatespeak And scare preach? Or Is it just me And a privileged flippant attitude towards peace and war today I complained When they were outta grated cheese At at my pizza store When I become Your enlightened despot I'ma run roughshod I'ma make heads drop When I become All that you believed I could be I'll revert back into dirt After I burn the Holy See But see, if mom asked I'd go to mass on Christmas Eve As a common courtesy Come on, I mean, she's really sweet But, really, what I mean is dead police Behead the priests, Eat pussy in the streets Eat fifty strips of LSD Then feed some to The DEA and lace their babies' plates With crack cocaine And guns And tell 'em Jesus doesn't even Know yer name, kid When I become Your enlightened despot I'ma run roughshod Ima make heads drop x4 The sign on I-77 said Hell is Real The sign on I-77 said Hell is Real The sign on I-77 said Hell is Real The sign on I-77 said Hell is Real Hell is Here We should’ve seen the grand conceit if it smells cheap Then It sells cheap An American classic A stale hero With 3 slices of Kraft cheese hashtag Fake food A stab in the absence of Light waves the last gasp of a sad cadre of bad men playing save face making up new wars Say hey, man, Let’s go for The Hat Trick Let’s shoot for the stars make a Space force Ooh baby Let’s re-capture the magic Let’s flatten these lousy bastards And then cash out the ranch Hand out Organic salad And we’ll sell ‘em the farm And we’ll hash out the finer points Of the contract while we Wage a savage barnstorming tour Carpet bomb the flyover states Like Vietnam And treat the coastal elites To a peace treaty spelled out In HTML They’ll pat their backs real swell While the world burns a roast on a spit they swim In the drippings of Slit-throat, fresh plucked Succulent free range chickens I guess that’s us Ah fuck I literally just witnessed Lebron James to the lakers And with him gone And dr Manhattan living on mars We’re naked There are no gods left to save us And frown down on our hideous bodies Make us ash amed to know We’re fully exposed While the emperor dons his new clothes And assholes unabashedly Keep telling him that he’s handsome While I’d rather Aim a ratchet at his feet Ask the motherfucker to start dancing This is not a peacekeeping mission This is police action Take the neighborhood back In spectacular fashion


Blastmaster Baker, Bushwick-based emcee and frontman of punk group Children’s City Dump (CCD), delivers his freshman full length album via NYC indie hip-hop collective, we are the karma kids (WATKK). Baker, a Brooklyn transplant raised in the overcast, post-industrial Youngstown, OH, acted as the city’s emissary for touring underground hip-hop, hosting artists such as Open Mike Eagle, Ceschi, Dark Time Sunshine and Louis Logic, before heading east.

'Blastmaster Baker vs the Human Being Lawnmower’ encompasses his sardonic perspective on the socio-political waste that the underpaid proletariat of his generation trudge through in their daily lives, connecting the bleak hypocrisy of his hometown to the underlying nihilism of NYC.

Boasting production and verses from WATKK label head, Lt Headtrip, also an Ohio-born NYC transplant, the musicality of the album reflects the abandoned, desolate factories of the Rust Belt while it buzzes with the anxieties of Brooklyn’s sleepless streets. Baker barks passionate scrutiny and mockery over dusty samples and clunky drums, both competing for an aggressive forefront, touching on global and personal affairs. PT Burnem, currently based in Richmond, VA, contributes his driving, synth-based production on two tracks as well, and lends his frenetic yet calculated rhyme style to close out the first half of the record.

CCD kicks in the door on ‘Mosquitoes’ with a fast paced, gritty punk rock ripper, complete with buzzsaw guitar and jackhammer drums reminiscent of old school NYHC, setting the stage for their two appearances in the album’s second half. Nowhere has the connection between punk and hip-hop been more fully realized than NYC, and Baker found a home for both on his album. Whether it’s the tuff samples or the pummeling instruments, you get a dual-wielded assault which allows for Baker's bellicose vocals.

Littered with contributions from his local hip hop community, including a verse from Queens-based Chicago native, SKECH185, scratches from founding Karma Kids DJ, Samurai Banana, and other subtle contributions such as background vocals, 'Blastmaster Baker vs the Human Being Lawnmower’ is a fitting addition the WATKK catalogue. Its heavy-handed political overtones, while sometimes childish and jeering, are lamentably relevant without mimicking the standard complaints of a nation in turmoil.


released January 11, 2019

Vocals written and performed by Blastmaster Baker
Featured vocals written and performed by Lt Headtrip, PT Burnem, and SKECH185
Scratches by Samurai Banana
Additional Vocals by SKECH185 and E. Grizzly
Additional guitars by Blastmaster Baker
Tracks 1, 2, 3, 4, 8 and 11 produced by Headtrip
Tracks 6 and 10 produced by PT Burnem
Tracks 5, 7 and 9 written by Baker and performed by Children’s City Dump
C.C.D. is Nick Baker, Alex Baker, Ken Levine, and Will Montgomery
Recorded and mixed at Karma Kids Studios, Karmastoria, NYC by executive engineer, Headtrip
Mastered by Jeff Brown at Pyramid Octagon Thoth Temple
Cover Photo by Paul Escamilla
Layout by Headtrip
Special thanks to Patrick Childers, Alex Baker, Ken Levine, Will Montgomery, Colin Swegman, Willie McIntyre Jr., Tim Gann, Mike Petrow, Cory Endress, Alex Myers, Sara Childers, and Cody Jones


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