Welcome to the Wyoming Wastes (Try Not to Trip) by Tod Wyoming | Wasteland Music скачать в хорошем качестве

Welcome to the Wyoming Wastes (Try Not to Trip) by Tod Wyoming | Wasteland Music

“This is Tod Wyoming, comin’ at you live from the end of the world, where the music’s hot, the mutants are hotter, and if you ain’t laughin’, you’re probably already dead!” -- Tod Wyoming Well hello there, wanderer, wipe that dust off your eyes, This is Tod Wyoming singin’ you the local weather in disguise. If you’re new to these roads, let me tune you real straight: Everything wants somethin’, and most of it bites. You’ll meet factions with flags and beggars with plans, Slavers sellin’ freedom by the pound of your hands. Mutants preach peace till the peace runs out, Brotherhood knocks... then audits your house. You’ll hear the Gear Gods grindin’ hymns outta steel, Say the soul’s just a bolt if you torque it right, deal? Mole rats come up like it’s springtime for doom, Whole streets go missing... surprise, it’s a womb. Watch your step for raider traps dressed up polite, “Free ammo ahead!”,,, yeah, free trip to the night. Undetonated shells hum lullabies low, If it’s glowin’ and buried... don’t dig, just go. And look up... no, higher... That ain’t birds, that’s dread: Apocalypse Hornets, black and yellow and fed. They don’t sting for defense, they don’t buzz for fun, They fly over towns and decide who’s done. There’s a church on the road with a toaster on wheels, They preach salvation comes buttered... meals heal feels. I laughed once, folks... now I nod and I pray, ‘Cause they fixed my radio and didn’t ask me to stay. Down the block, stretch mats, bones snappin’ in time, It’s Ghoul Yoga Hour, bring water, bring spine. They’ll invite you real sweet: “Join the flow, feel the calm,” Next thing you know your femur’s recitin’ a psalm. Green fire in the sky? That’s the Comet of Cain, Crashes nearby with a heartbeat and brain. Metallic heart thumpin’ deep in the pit, Don’t listen too long, it learns who you is. And if luck’s got a sense of humor today, You’ll hear a moo that sounds like interest rates. The Golden Brahmin strolls, two heads, pure shine, Miners chase hope, raiders chase time. It moos “MONEY,” real slow, real mean, I saw a man sell his gun for a dream. Brahmin kept walkin’, sun went down, That’s economics, Wyoming-style, town to town. So here’s your map, friend, burn it with grace, Trust your boots, doubt smiles, wave at the strange. If the world starts singin’ and you know the tune, That’s just the Wastes sayin’, “Welcome home, too soon.” This is Tod Wyoming, signin’ off with a grin, If you survive the verse, you might make it to the end.