The Master Is A Drunkard (Demo)

from Boiling Breakfast Early by Mischief Brew

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Who is this that stands before me
With a candle at its end?
There's a fire in the wheatfield
And a storm around the bend
There's strangers out a'prowling
'Round the great harvests of hay
So gather all your family
And send them all away
And to your youngest daughter
Hide her smiles, hide her curls
For the master is a drunkard
And he'll sell her off for pearls
Hide her from the vile workbeast
Cover her ears from the screaming world
For the master is a drunkard
And he'll sell her off for pearls

Who goes before the tyrants
Wielding innocence, like fools?
You'll need a thousand armies
And a tale to tell your troops
Tell a tale of harsh oppression
And the will to thrive again
How your master is a bastard
And his day must see its end
And when they start to falter
Bring their hearts a carving knife
And I will not wince in sorrow
Sir, you did not take a life
For on the final day of lashing
You won the wardship of their souls
Captured, blackened by your orders
Then set free in the wintry cold

You say your master is a bastard
And you cannot stand his yoke
If your master is a bastard
Take a knife up to his throat
There's no means to scold your daughter
When she overturns a stone
There's no comfort in a dark house
No harmony in torpid moans
Work, rest, pay to die

Your bones are rickety hinges
Your back, a rusty tin
So you shambled to your bedside
Found your wife in bed with him
If your master is a drunkard
Don't bring him wine, or pour
If your master is a drunkard
Escape to freedom while he snores


from Boiling Breakfast Early, released April 8, 2008


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Mischief Brew Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Emerging from the undead ashes of PA punk troupe The Orphans, Mischief Brew started with a scratchy demo tape in 2000 and has since spread the good word of anarchy, hilarity, and rebellion across state lines and even the Atlantic Ocean a few times. We've managed to exist for over 13 years in one form or another by kissing nobody's ass and doing everything ourselves, for the most part. No rules! ... more

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