When These Hands Were Small, When These Fists Did Break

by Bueno Crusher

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1.
01:16
2.
01:15
3.
01:24
4.
01:22
5.
6.
01:45
7.
01:43

credits

released January 24, 2015

KEITH GAVAZZI - Baritone Guitar
HENRY MILLS - Vocals
ROB WOLK - Drums

Drums were recorded with Kevin Bernsten at Developing Nations.
Everything else was recorded, mixed & mastered by Mike Walls at Audio Esoterica (2014).

Album photography and design by Jonathan Knobel (jonathanknobel.com)
Typography by Marissa Zarrabzadeh

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license

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about

Bueno Crusher Maryland

A machete-core trio from Maryland.

The past year bore When These Hands Were Small, When These Fists Did Break.

An earlier incarnation released Haiku for the Headlocked, an homage to the social movements and violent uprisings that rocked the world during the 70′s and 80′s.

ex. mem. Army of Kashyyyk; Voyage In Coma
... more

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Track Name: Bronson
You’re gonna need more back up

to take me down.

I’m counting the cops it takes

like 45 plates.

Bring me down.

As you barrel in,

I dare you,

without your guns...

you fucking coward,

you fucking chump.

http://www.democracynow.org/2005/11/30/a_conversation_with_death_row_prisoner

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJLaN6uDkpY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PR4LK7726VQ
Track Name: Jack Johnson
Gloves laced, dark skin, 1908,

Jack Johnson takes the heavyweight.

Let the plantation burn.

Beat the bag ‘til it bursts.

Who’s weak now

when it’s just you and me?

No lynch mob,

‘cept for this white mob glaring at me.

Something ‘s changed in me.

Beat the bag ‘til it bursts.

http://books.google.com/books?id=7-hAXVT0t38C&pg=PT49&lpg=PT49&dq=peoples+history+of+sports+jack+johnson&source=bl&ots=JJpY46PK0X&sig=vkUowddX0dBwTItZwXd4Q-LwNnE&hl=en&sa=X&ei=eFXQU4CMBIWuyASdl4LYCw&ved=0CC8Q6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=jack%20johnson&f=false
Track Name: M.O.A.B.
In the bunker pale light,

huddled side to side to side,

we register like a CAT scan.

A throb beneath the ground.

You and I know we won’t survive,

eyes on the walls, knowing they won’t hold.

Our hearts betray us.

We once shook the beams.

My son kicks inside your womb.

Bunker buster reach for me.

http://electronicintifada.net/content/photostory-al-amiriyyah-baghdad-amiriyyah-south-beirut/6379

http://science.howstuffworks.com/bunker-buster1.htm

http://www.kavkazcenter.com/eng/content/2006/07/30/5125_print.html
Track Name: Six Hills
Six hills to home.

At night he hung,

leaking from skull crack to ground.

See me in the ring.

This is my left hook,

drop.

Exorcise from me,

this child.

Beat me from me for the things I’ve done

when these hands were small,

when these fists did break.

Beat me from me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Elp5rbsNfnI
Track Name: Iron Man (According to Mustafa Sayed, Age 11)
There are mornings I forget I am paralyzed--

push myself from piss and sweat drenched sheets to my chair,

that’s where I need my mother’s arms to hoist me up the stairs.

Sometimes I dream I’m Iron Man, withstanding bullets.

Tank in my way.

I open hulls like C-rations.

If I could run, I’d weave through’em like Pele.

The suit is on.

What I want is a block to play with my friends

without the gaze of snipers.

Locked on, all lasers, punching walls,

snatching cowards out their fucking towers.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJ3nUthorJI

http://www.democracynow.org/2006/7/19/robert_fisk_in_beirut_israeli_assault
Track Name: Peleona
Peleona, sangre de indio, que viva su rabia.

Peleona, frente ‘l microfono, gritando y gritando.

Madre, me has enseñado ha usar,

estos puños ‘papado con polvora.

Ha quien apuntar estas letras

de plomo caliente.

Los afueras del cerro,

flechas obsidianas,

casquillos gastadas

y su estomago lleno de lombrices

listo a luchar.

https://www.google.com/search?q=female+guerrillera&client=firefox-a&hs=1w8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=YlfQU6K4D5CzyASuj4DgDQ&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1424&bih=717
Track Name: La Toma
Peleona, sangre de indio, que viva su rabia.

Peleona, frente ‘l microfono, gritando y gritando.

Madre, me has enseñado ha usar,

estos puños ‘papado con polvora.

Ha quien apuntar estas letras

de plomo caliente.

Los afueras del cerro,

flechas obsidianas,

casquillos gastadas

y su estomago lleno de lombrices

listo a luchar.

https://www.google.com/search?q=female+guerrillera&client=firefox-a&hs=1w8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=YlfQU6K4D5CzyASuj4DgDQ&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1424&bih=717