Your Mom

Your Mom

 Norman, Oklahoma, USA
BandRockPunk

Your Mom is like being raped by a premature ejaculator. When it's over, you're not sure what just happened, but you feel pretty dirty.

Biography

Long ago, during an age of absolute darkness, a band was formed. This group of friends/enemies shattered the darkness and stoked the nascent flames of civilization into a funeral pyre upon which all that was lame was burned. That is not our story. In fact, it is a much better story than ours, and you should probably find that band. You will like them.

We formed because we could. We were tired of being in lousy bands individually, so we decided to form a super-group of suck. We are Your Mom, and we have come for your children. And your booze.

Most punk rock you hear these days sucks, and for all the wrong reasons. The music is well written and well played, the equipment is high dollar and the mixing is good. This is punk rock, God damn it, not AOR. Punk rock is about short songs that split the skull and shred the brain with utter inanity and a casual disregard for what is accessible to the average person. Speed over talent, volume over musicianship. And, most of all, the ability to flip off someone while still playing the bass part.

This is what we do. We suck. Loudly. Violently. We are punk in the way the Subhumans were punk, and in all the ways Good Charlotte are not. We will not compromise our un-artistic vision for lame stuff like harmony or playing the same song at the same time. It's about drunkenly abusing the audience and each other, and laughing while people boo.

Lyrics

Punditocracy

Written By: Trev

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
I don't wanna hear it.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
You stupid asshole.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
I don't wanna hear it.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
You stupid asshole.
Every time your lips part and words fall out
makes me wanna bust ya one right in the fuckin' mouf
you don't even stop to breathe, pause to inhale
if dumb dictated size you'd be the biggest, whitest whale

Have you ever once heard the words that you speak?
The rhetoric is fiery, but the logic always weak
Mode of thought out-dated, morality antique
in the talking monkey retard arguments that you repeat

Hot Roddy

Written By: Trev

My baby killed my baby
took a vacuum sucked it out her body
saved the pile of bloody tissue
think I'm gonna name it Roddy
hope it don't fall off the shelf
the workmanship is kinda shoddy
up there's where I keep his jar
unless we're cruising in my car
pickin' up chee burger and fries

Me and Roddy hang out all night
smoke up crack and drink malt-liquour
every Friday night we splurge
and get ourselves a one-eyed stripper
every God damn she dances
he rolls across the floor and trips her
they always hit the ground so hard
then flop around like a retard
I just hope the next one don't die

Me and Roddy dig the music
every night we're on the club scene
basin' meth and angel dust
an' chasing it all down with benzene
by the time that we are done
the whole damn town's a fuckin' crime scene
partying with my cool son
who's just a little under-done
what a way to live my life.

#1 Customer

Written By: Trev

Why don't you know your own phone number
Why don't you know where you fucking are
Why don't you read our menu before you call
and waste my fucking time
Why can't you read the coupon
I don't have time to hold your fucking hand
Why you pay with a hundred? You live in a
goddamned trailer park

Don't fucking dare call back
It's only been ten minutes
It'll get there when it fucking get's there
You're lucky if I don't shit in it

Why. Don't. You. Ever. Fucking. Tip me.
I spend time alone with your food
I've seen flipper babies answer the door
MUCH faster than you
Why can't you place your order without making
me want to fucking die
Do you really think Diet Coke makes up for
triple cheese
I pray you choke on it, you mouth-breathing-
fuckchop-mongoloid

May I interest you in a Pocket? We fill it with
the freshest death
What kind of chips would you like with that?
SPRITE’S NOT CHIPS!
Why don't you know your own phone number
Why don't you know where you fucking live
Why can't you just read the goddamned
coupon
I don't have time to hold your fucking hand

Darwin v. Dipshit

Written By: Trev

only in America --
in this day and age
can a man running for leadership –
stand upon the stage
and tell the audience that –
evolution didn’t happen
then they all ate it up –
as I gaped with pants encrappened

dinosaurs
really existed
denyin’ that
is fuckin’ tarded

Creation Science isn’t science
a wish is not reality
have all the God damned faith you want
but give up this stupidity
Creation Science isn’t science
curriculum is not a game
pray to who the Hell you want
but, Noah’s Ark is fucking lame

Tyrannosaurus fucking Rex –
stalked Cretaceous lands
came to be, then went extinct –
untouched by human hands
the Earth is 6k years of age –
like I’m a Chinese pilot
you evidence is still the lame –
no matter how you pile it

dinosaurs
really existed
they did not, however
walk with mankind

I’m not screaming “Fuck your god! –
Faith is without worth!”
it’s that you don’t have the troof –
about the past of Earf
‘cause adding up the names, –
multiplying by “begats”
may provide distraction –
but won’t yield you any fact

(REPEAT FIRST BRIDGE AND CHORUS)

B'loney Sammich, Muray

Written By: Trev

Fuck around wit my sammich
Bitch, ya gonna git bit!
Fuck around wf my baloney
Bitch, ya gonna git hit!

But, Baby, you know I need you
‘Cuz you love Creed, too
You gone, leaves me lonesome
I’m waiting with arms wide open
Don’t let them bad feelin’s linger
I said I was sorry ‘bout your finger
But, Baby, sometimes you go too far
Now get the fuck back in the car

Where’s my
Got damn
B’loney
Sammich
Where’s my
Got damn
B’loney
Sammich

Fuck around wit my sammich
Bitch, ya gonna git bit!
Fuck around wf my baloney
Bitch, ya gonna git hit!

But, Baby, them kids need you
And they love Creed, too
You gone leaves them lonesome
Their little arms wide open
The social worker’s gonna flip
Four kids means eight busted lips
I was drunk, Baby... shit
And you just weren’t around to hit.

Fuck around wit my sammich
Bitch, ya gonna git bit!
Fuck around wf my baloney
Bitch, ya gonna git hit!

But, Baby, you know I need you
‘Cuz you love Creed, too
You gone, leaves me lonesome
I’m waiting with arms wide open
Don’t let them bad feelin’s linger
I said I was sorry ‘bout your finger
But, Baby, sometimes you go too far
Now get the fuck back in the car

Discography

Working on it.

Set List

Changes show to show, at the moment.