What a weird concept: snotty '90s East Bay punk with lyrics based on nursery rhymes. Whatever man, it fukkn worked. Feisty, in your face and catchy as shit, THE GR'UPS (that's short for "the grown ups," ironic since by my current standards they were still kids when this was recorded) dropped a handful of songs off before calling it a day and pursuing lives in politics, public service, academia, and entertainment without ever leaving punk. That last part is an accomplishment in itself, but the jams here don't need any context to be awesome. For the uninitiated, imagine a drunker Northern California version of X (and the similarity goes well beyond the relatively pedestrian male/female vocal observations) planted in the 924 Gilman's fertile soil...but you should already know that.
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