Tales from Tofugraphic Oceans

by Soy

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03:07
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7" vinyl, 200 copies pressed. Released and distributed by Soy.

credits

released December 1, 1997

Lyrics by the drummer. Music by Soy.

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all rights reserved

about

Soy Victoria, British Columbia

Soy formed in 1996, put out a cassette and a 7-inch, toured a bit, broke up in '97, reunited in '11, and played a few shows and recorded some new stuff in '12. Scheduled to break up again in '14, so enjoy it while you can. RIP Richard Dunn.

Drums/Vocals: Doug
Guitar: Paul
Bass/Vocals: Cruiser
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Track Name: People who Always Fuck Up on their Plurals and Possessives Really Get Me Down
"The brown turds" indicates plural.
"The turd's brownness" indicates possessive.
And if you want to get really nitpicky,
"The turds' brownness" indicates possessive plural.

So don't go telling Soy
about any shit otherwise.

Also, apostrophes are used in contractions.
So don't go fuckin' me 'round, 'kay?
Track Name: Podgy
Mullin' around - I see it 'bout every day.
Got nothin' to do - you're goin' to an early grave.
You think you're so cool - just standin' 'round 'n sayin' "hey".

It's always the same - you sit around and bitch and rant.
And scroungin' around - you'd try to hock your last pair of pants.
"Can I have a butt?" you'd ask for about the thousandth time.
You sleep in all day - sloth will soon erode your mind.
No wonder you can't - get off your ass and to' da line.

Podgy - get goin'.

Stupid lazy-ass nosepicker:
Droolin' on the fuckin' cushions.
Better not drop your Night Star!
Can't even fucking sit up.
Your chin disappears into your neck.
You talk with a gurgle.
Wheezing keeps you from dying.
You pathetic heap of inert shit!

Rollin' off the couch - you sleep on it for way too long.
You won't move an inch - except when you reef from the bong.
Your brain wastes away - "Traders" is your favourite show.
It's good that you're poor - or else you'd blow it all on blow.
Then after a while - "how to fart" is all you know.
Track Name: Ballad of Wendy Grutlin
The strings on this guitar are old.
Might as well throw the whole thing away.
We get these fucking things free, anyway.

My axe can't get loud enough!
I'll bash this fucking thing around.
Stomp up and down 'til it coats the ground.

Wait a second here - I want this one in cherry red.
How the fuck do you expect God's gift to women to wail a riff
when all he's left to use is something with a colour scheme
that doesn't lend itself to making me look like a guitar god?!

Give me more dry ice!
We want the best smoke show!

In our rider, it says we get the sunlamps and some zinc.
And those tin foil thingies to put around our handsome faces.
And cherry blossoms, a chest of those rockaberry coolers.
This tray of pâté de fois gras is the worst shit I think I've ever had.

I'm on my fuckin' knees, pullin' off my hammer-ons
when much to my dismay, a couple spots go out on me.
So I'm in there in the dark, fuckin' clueless as to where I am
and end up walking in the path of a flashpot that blasts in my face.

Get the gauze! Get the gauze!
He's a guitar mummy!

The drummer's got no riser and he's starting to get huffy.
The laser beams are working but they're not highlighting us.
The fucking teleprompter's stuck and it's fucking us all over
'cause now I'm repeating the phrase "black reality" till the cows come home!
Track Name: Context is Everything
The meaning of something can change
when it's put in different situations.
If you take everything so literally
Then you're a blind, dumb, ignorant shithead!

Context is everything.

Hey, take a shit and try a different perspective.
Loosen up - ever heard of irony?
Maybe you should go bang your fuckin' head
against the wall until it's a bleeding pulp of mush.

Write well, all right?

If you say what someone else has said,
make as fucking sure as you can
to fit their quote into your idea
keeping in mind something called fair comment.

Context is every-fucking-thing.