Somewhere in the damp swamps of Missouri the spirit of Robert Johnson downs the last of the moonshine in his cup, two punk exiles from montreal shack up in a WWII bunker in Germany, hit record on an abused four track and start thrashing with all the fervor of Buddy Holly on meth. Cutting between harmar mississippi chops and ghostly 50's doowop they will punch you in the face then tell you they love you when you can still taste the blood in your mouth, but you will believe it.... until they punch you in face again.
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