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This is the sound of burnt hills, the smell of burnt hair, the black musical smoke from a burning methlab in an abandoned trailer park, a glorious blown out, burnt out, drug addled freak rock free for all. Imagine the Dead C if they had grown up in Modesto, skipping school and doing lots of speed in the 7-11 parking lot, or if they had spent their formative years in Texas in the early eighties smoking pot and…
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