My sophomore LP "Depth". Make some noise for the old school. Play this loud.
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lyrics
Hell and High Water
Swords:
Conversation killed the moment
the kick snare combination bestills the omens
Caressing every fret, a world from the text
you once knew and loved, buzzing with the feedback
Keep it clean, Jack, jack me into the audio
it’s a grand theft, and papa know best
more or less, the rest thresholding the death threats
I’m stressed with less sex, the doc’s saying bed rest
But baby, I was born to run,
and we can talk remedies when the tour is done
Load up the drums and bass and I’m barrelling through
while these pretty indie rockers just stare at they shoes
I’m in the mix at full clip, Christmas carolling dues
with my grooves fluid same way a theremin do
Wearing a derelict mood, bumping inherited tunes
the remix, yeah, and what we taring it to
Back seat of the backbeat, the basics of the basement
tracing fame and fortune, distortion of the faceless
A brick in the wall, a face at the bar
playing guitar, making my mark while I’m waiting to start
In the flesh of ya twilight, pushing it deeper
than the depth of emotion you can fit in a speaker
Impressions and fevers dialed up at the tone
In a brooding message that I’ll check when I make it home
Megan Johns:
Find yourself an island, baby
give yourself a chance (a chance, a chance)
Find yourself a sunset, maybe
leave it up to chance (to chance, to chance)
Swords:
Let’s dance to the bitter, high plains a drifter
a prophecy fulfilling the glitz and the glitter and glam
sip the mixture next to the mic stand
fronting the hype man, exciting, a live band
And it’s live, man, LIFE, and the blanks can fill in
whatever gets blindsided by the lights on the ceiling
Feelings you can catch, I’m grasping a stress ball
but that’s between me, you and that store with the Les Paul
Yes, y’all, I guess y’all, we in it together
with the drums from the one who put the dirt in your feathers
Greasy, it keep me belief free, it’s easy
long as hell and high water stay out of the deep freeze
A midwest minute, my expected tone
and I ain’t in it for a visit, yo, express the poem
and I flex the bone, texting home, yes its on
headed west alone, bumping Methadrone
Megan Johns:
Find yourself an island, baby
give yourself a chance (a chance, a chance)
Find yourself a sunset, maybe
leave it up to chance (to chance, to chance)
credits
from Depth,
released November 1, 2013
Shannon Swords: vocals, guitar, production
Megan Johns: vocals
Sarah Cramer: bass
Hailing from the Pacific Northwest of the United States, my name is Swords. I'm an emcee/producer Raised on rock and roll
and roots rock reggae, I've attempted to blaze a new trail for myself through the avenues of hip hop. In my time I've opened for acts such as Brother Ali, the Nappy Roots, Braille and Illogic. Check out the songs......more
supported by 6 fans who also own “Hell and High Water”
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Bristol’s The Allergies deliver a big, booming, soulful album full of classic-sounding breaks, head-nodding hip-hop and sizzling funk. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 1, 2020