Team Brick

All honks and traps come yonder this way, a slap of a drum, a canopy of shrieking macaws telling you all to HUSH UP YOUR LITTLE GUMS, be blessed now you...

All I do is make a RACKET, and I think about little jesus and then BIG JESUS
and also I think about MOSES and ALLAH when I ring my little bells,
and then I think about naughty naughty SATAN when I honk my pipe
and when I scrape my bow along my snake machine my thoughts turn SKYWARDS again and I think about THE SERAPHIM.
When I strum my way into your hearts, I think about your hearts and that HUMANS outside of 'em, and that I think "God bless 'em, bloody valves"

..All this rattle I rumble through my friends, my three STALWART COMPANIONS, "The Traps", sometimes aided by a sister trap, or UNCLE, the tape monster.

These traps go wrong and chew up my sinister tweeting and on their system of pulleys and conveyor belts comes a smooth shiny little pebble what's NICE to rub between your hands...

Whether it comes out sounding like HEAVEN or HELL, or POP or NOISE, or even PRETTY or UGLIES is NEVER down to me but down to the numbers that chose my stubby little PAWS to do their DIRTY LITTLE TASKS AND ASKS for them and I dutifully oblige.

"The voice of Franciscan monk with a lot of distortion, and the guy comes amid a sax nothing saxophone on top of the Loopings voice in a climate of chapel"

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