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The Last Session of the Dopified Apostles

by Bong Rips For Jesus

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1.
Smoke up-did you re-up? Are you on the come up? Or did you slip up? You know it's time to light up. When we roll through you've got to blaze up. Not just toke up, I mean choke up. We're gonna smoke so much you'll blow up. What's that-speak up? We've still got more to roll up. ---- Just another day in the life of those much higher up... Levitating off the ground, gotta go pick up! Strawberry cough-purpskurp-gorilla glue-What's up? ---- You're not in control anymore, endankification will begin. THC infusing with your blood stream-the daze of the herb feels like a dream. Now empowered by the long avoided stank of destiny, the truths reveal themselves. One by one-you've been living in a cell, from grace humanity has fell, anyone got an extra gram to sell? Loading the bong, licking the spliff, plugging in the vaporizer... I'm your token tokin' toker, danker than the shit you ganked and got spanked for. Load the bong, lick the spliff, plug in the vaporizer You've got to speed it up, if you think you'll ever catch up... Gram after gram you suck up, eat up- Your lungs are beat up, but hey-we'll meet up-say what's up! You don't need an education, all you need is Endankification.
2.
Look! Look and see, what is in this pipe-so holy. I burned and smoked and choked my entire sack-never expecting to look back. In my pipe, I did see-the form of Jesus peering-sneering back at me. Oh-Jesus has resin, and let this be a lesson: he's a prick and deserved what came to him.
3.
In blackness I awaken To noxious fumes of resin Dripping from the cavernous ceiling Onto my motionless body Cast out from my mind Where am I? Chambers of infinite black tar Forcing my paralyzed legs to Drag behind me as I crawl my way Through the sopping tunnel masterpiece I cannot discern direction as I'm In an out of consciousness and All these passages mislead me RESIN Soaking the ground beneath Body putrefying POOLING Around me the earth quakes A gust of smoke engulfs my face The chambers of Infinite black tar These two massive chambers With intricate branching tunnels Connected by one path A biological tomb Smeared in resin! Forever wandering Inside a sticky cave My grave Forever wandering Inside my resin caked LUNGS! The chambers of Infinite black tar
4.
Another day at the wax factory. Churning the banana kush shatter batch. Nurturing a drum of gorilla glue hash... Trimming the M-13, priming the afghan. Standing high above a fresh vat of our latest creation: hybrid sour dream purity. Balance lost, tumbling down-my last thoughts, total repentance. I have tainted that which I sought... Breaking the surface faster than a bong rip-immediate THC absorption in every cell. My body absorbs it like a sponge, and for a brief moment I am God. Dissolving ego-along with my corporeal form-I have ascended this plane. All material traces to reality-erased. A corpse vaporized in a post-dab suspension. Reduced to less than ash, caught in the winds of stonality. One with the herba.
5.
(No lyrics, we just took fat rips and went at it on this one.)
6.
Engorged on dank-infused cookies and candies and lollipops. Swallowing pot-prepared pizza and ganja-laced linguini! ---- As I reach for your organs to put in the oven, I make sure they are slathered in weed butter. Delicate the kidneys are, I place them on the top shelf, two get me the highest. The taste is euphoric. ---- Simply not enough tasty stuff for my love of weed based delicacies! The crew's been smoking up a lot lately... That, I know. That, I know well. I bet their blood is brimming with that good-good. Lured in, one by one. Slain by my own hand to be ingested for organ(ic) edibles. No longer will I stoop so low standards as baking flower into my bread... When I can simply chop up some hippies, eat them after they're dead! Kill your friends, dice them up-not before you smoke them out. Roast their butts, ingest their guts, just go fucking nuts.
7.
(Interlude)
8.
The Doctor will dab you now. A bong thicker than a forty oz-greased up with THC oil. A blown ass bitch tied up in the back. Perpetually hot-boxed until she gave some slack. Blunts lit all around, taking turns on this skank. Slamming the water pipe into her butt. Calling her a smoke slut. This is her prescription-she's gonna learn the meaning of "hittin' it". It's for her own good, her own medicine. Doctor Dank says bongular insertion worked for him!
9.
Imagine-if you will, deep within the Earth, a bastion of mold's death and the freshest, most potent dope grown from the corpses of fallen legendary stoneys. In your dreams, in your highest moments in this existence, it beckons to you beyond the wall of dankness. Madness overwhelms even the most fortified minds and soon you find yourself searching, desperately to get deeper into the Earth's Crust. Hopelessly selling your entire life away for a grand supply of herb for the journey to be undertaken. The portal calling to you through your pineal gland. The Dopecrypt, it beckons.
10.
When you've had it with this fucked up, retarded, no good world... There is only one thing to do. Self-immolation is the imminent decision-methods decided via heavy pot sessions. I've saved and scraped over six hundred and sixty six pounds of the best fucking loud. To go up in flames and funnel it into a high powered fucking gas-mask (inhale...) I will be a legendary martyr for the cause of the marijuana majority. Dreams of the afterlife overtake me. The Suicide Session shall begin soon. The flames ingesting, combusting bricks and bushels and nugs of Primo... Apparatus engaged, mask dawned, the final moment's are before me... Seconds before liftoff-miscalculations apparent, possible explosions denoting entire citywide THC overdose fogs. Considering the options-this may be a blessing in disguise. I've made my choice: we're all going down south. GANJA GASMASK MASS SUICIDE. UNPRECEDENTED, UNSOLICITED, UNDIMINISHED GROUND ZERO RENDERING ALL WHO ENTER STONED TO DEATH.
11.
Bongmitzvah! 02:30
Oy vey! It's time to celebrate! Gather round, we've got lots to ground-as we lift you off the ground! Hoorah for Horah, you're raised higher than you've ever been! A big man now, doing his own taxes and packing his own bowls. Trimming your own plants-blitzed as Hell, it's time to fucking dance. Sixty-nine pieces floating among every party-goer, how many j's can you light with the menorah? And hey, we'll even then let the goyim partake in a very special oil! It's actually kosher, I promise. L'chaim? I think you mean... The son of the seed! This is the song of thee! Now a man of the great green tree! It's your Bongmitzva kid-slam the bong for me!
12.
(No lyrics, only bongs ripping bowls of human kief.)
13.
Fuck legalization and legislation on marijuana in this nation-I'm running out of fucking patience. Every day, some way I make moves to spread the roots of my ganja-based group. Pushing through the streets pluggin' swisher sweets like we had an endorsement for this smoked out torment. Get fucked. There will be no prisoners, only those who join us or die-get high or perish you can't relish this moment any longer. Crushed under the weight of my newly picked up dank-you will not survive as we smoke you alive. Slay you for your ten sack, take your body out back, and then I'll hack and I'll hack, til' that spine begins to crack. You think I wouldn't? Just to steal your bud and slam it into my blood. Get in on the rotation, boy. Beget the implementation of the bong rips nation.
14.
(Outro)

about

Behold, our debut album "The Last Session of the Dopified Apostles". Channeling the deep powers imbued unto us by our endankification-we were blessed by the Dark Bong Gods to create this album. Many spliffs, bong bowls, blunts, and beyond were burned in order to feed this monster of slamming guttural ganja. Thanks to all our featuring vocalists in lending their voices to the release. This could not have been accomplished without you.

Get dabbed and smoked the fuck out-the weed slams are here.

Special thanks as well to Slam Worldwide for getting our name out there and debuting TLSOTDA.

credits

released September 16, 2016

the bonGlord - Lead instrumentalist, editor, producer, mixer, mastering.
Captain StankDank - Lead vocalist, lyricist (omitting track 3)

Special thanks to Joe of Toke for writing the lyrics to track 3, "Chambers of Infinite Black Tar".

Thanks to Travis Kirk of Toilet Brittle for harsh noise in "Ground Into Human Kief"

Artwork and logo by Gruesome Graphx.

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Bong Rips For Jesus Syracuse, New York

Slamming Brutal Stoner Death Metal. Join us or die, get high-or perish.

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