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Ok, I downloaded their album because you lot go on about it.
I can't understand a bloody word they're saying.
Imagine Thom Yorke moaning but making up his own words.
Ingmar Bergman has been given a xylaphone and a thermin for his birthday, and instead of making miserable films about peasants and ducks playing chess with Death, he decides to record the sound of bleak, harsh and miserable Icelandic winters.
I also downloaded "Down", a group comprising of Phil Anselmo, Rex and some blokes from Corrosion of Conformity.
Now there is music.
Not this whinging Iceland misery.
I can't understand a bloody word they're saying.
Imagine Thom Yorke moaning but making up his own words.
Ingmar Bergman has been given a xylaphone and a thermin for his birthday, and instead of making miserable films about peasants and ducks playing chess with Death, he decides to record the sound of bleak, harsh and miserable Icelandic winters.
I also downloaded "Down", a group comprising of Phil Anselmo, Rex and some blokes from Corrosion of Conformity.
Now there is music.
Not this whinging Iceland misery.
naw u r gay an no nuthin boot music gaytboy
Mr.Snuggly wrote:
> Eat me.
---
Right after Angry-Hair Chick and Hybrid.
A man needs his rest.
> Eat me.
---
Right after Angry-Hair Chick and Hybrid.
A man needs his rest.
I would say me next, but it sounds suddenly more gay.
So I'll just tell you to go eat yourself, and I'll listen to Clutch tonight.
So I'll just tell you to go eat yourself, and I'll listen to Clutch tonight.
Eat me.
Ok, I downloaded their album because you lot go on about it.
I can't understand a bloody word they're saying.
Imagine Thom Yorke moaning but making up his own words.
Ingmar Bergman has been given a xylaphone and a thermin for his birthday, and instead of making miserable films about peasants and ducks playing chess with Death, he decides to record the sound of bleak, harsh and miserable Icelandic winters.
I also downloaded "Down", a group comprising of Phil Anselmo, Rex and some blokes from Corrosion of Conformity.
Now there is music.
Not this whinging Iceland misery.
I can't understand a bloody word they're saying.
Imagine Thom Yorke moaning but making up his own words.
Ingmar Bergman has been given a xylaphone and a thermin for his birthday, and instead of making miserable films about peasants and ducks playing chess with Death, he decides to record the sound of bleak, harsh and miserable Icelandic winters.
I also downloaded "Down", a group comprising of Phil Anselmo, Rex and some blokes from Corrosion of Conformity.
Now there is music.
Not this whinging Iceland misery.