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BRAUHEIST's self-titled EP.


released December 1, 2012

BRAUHEIST would like to thank Ben Treen for his time and contribution in making this album.



all rights reserved


BRAUHEIST Vancouver, British Columbia

Combining pulse pounding beats with haunting riffs and disgusting vocals, we are the abortion that hardcore music forgot to take note of. The crusty step-son of punk rock and modern metal with a live show full of raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves people salivating.

BRAUHEIST can be seen slumming around the grimiest parts in Vancouver, Canada.
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Track Name: Kill Everything
I see none called asian
I see no negro
I see no caucasian
I see no souls
I see the evidence
One kind segregated
Minds bent on destroying their own
Climbing the pile of dead on their way to the throne
Kill Everything
(Slaughter, destroy, everything)
Kill Everything
(Dismember, murder, everything)
Kill Everything
I see no Pakistan
I see no Israel
I see the blood shed mess
My favourite TV show
I see the elegant
Smile in their good fortune
Blind to the consequence
The daily deaths; their lifestyles inflict
Kill Everything
(Slaughter, destroy, everything)
Kill Everything
(Murder, dismember, everything)
Kill Everything
Blood shed among the masses
And not a single fuck was given that day.
Track Name: Trophy Wives
When I was dazed I took them home
But without a blink I kept their bones
Their skin serves well
A hand made lamp
Gutted and hung
Keep that bitch in a box
Discard her as she rots
Kept under where I sleep
All that's important to me
My Nikes; your lady parts
Don't get it twisted - I never fucked the corpses
Their purpose served
Forever preserved
Track Name: Rotter
Crypts of the damned
Litter this land
Unearthed the dead
Ravage the flesh
Bloody and battered torsos rot like the rest
Slashing the wrists
Skinning the limbs
Cut out the throat and rip out the chest
This is the end
Rip out the chest
This is the end
Decomposition of man
Decaying undead
Festering brawn
Crippled corpses ablaze, scattered among
Slitting the wrists
Skinning the limbs
Cut out the throat and rip out the chest
Fuck, rip out your chest
Undead rise from the smouldering wasteland
The flesh of the living hang from their mouths
Fist the corpse of the blue-eyed virgin
Breathing in the air of your own holocaust
Savagely tearing limb from limb
Track Name: Bleed Out Yer Own
We scrawled these sins in our own hands, and scoured the floor for bits and crumbs
For the fortune and fame that was never achieved
We'd kill for that throne and bleed out our own
We'd kill for that throne and bleed out our own
Just to get paid
Sell out
Trading our own for that dollar sign
Those pretty little zeros make it worth while
We'd kill for that throne and bleed out our own
Just to get paid
We'd sell it all just for that pretty penny; sell out just for that pretty penny
Trade away for that pretty penny you wish you could afford
Track Name: Pigpen
He said he'd gotten sloppy, he said he fell one short
He let one get away, the rest lay beneath dirt
And the heads still roll
The profile of a killer, a gaunt, hermit man
The skin under his nails, the blood stains his hands
No one was surprised, when they sifted through the soil
At the things they found, his rotting human toys
Like a scene from Silence of the Lambs
They found Ol' Willies dolls
From the flesh of missing girls
From the poorest neighbourhood in the middle of Lotus Land
No one would miss them
I wanna feel it, while the heads still roll.
Track Name: The Cubhunter
There's no way out
Forced to hear you talk about
Your dead end job
Your broken home
Your shitty car
Your shitty god
Your empty soul
Meanwhile, back on planet Earth
Under the roof above your head, you'll crack another beer
You'll sit back and relax, watch the game on your TV
And then you'll think back of all wrongs done unto thee
And it makes me itch, twitching nervously
I wanna crack yer skull, just wanna crack yer skull
Maybe sit back and think how good you have it here
Not living in poverty
Not living in famine
So while you sit and bitch about what you haven't got
It's better than nothing
At least you've got something good
Track Name: Lessons in Futility: Tidal Waves of Death
Hold on while I punch myself in the face
You can't be seriously telling me that
Tidal waves (tidal waves of death)
No one nowhere saw this coming
Never an intellectual
in any way could have predicted
Tidal waves (tidal waves of death)
The inevitable
Tidal waves of death
And you're all fucked!
Track Name: Death Of
Your tongue, your mouth, you're always right
Chapped lips, Chapstick, you're perfect now
Big man, cash king, you're worthy now
Spray tan, white teeth, you're flawless now
You're done; your time has come
A bottle of crown and a hooker in your bed
A bottle of pills and wretched headache
You dug, your hole
know learn, your fucking role
you dug, yer hole
Go straight to hell
Short tongue, fat mouth, you talk too much
Split lips, limp dick, your mangy now
Small man, credit kind, you're worthless now
Pale skin, chipped teeth, you're average now
Time to listen up
hold you're fuckin' tongue
watch yer fucking tone
A bottle of crown and a hooker in your bed
A bottle of pills and a wretched headache
Your time has come mother fucker
Bottle of crown
Nobody gives a fuck about you
This is the death of a scumbag
Track Name: Casey
Look how the bottle hits her lips, watch as she tries to shake her hips
Ripped black pantyhose, a five dollar bill shoved in her nose
Daddies little girl aint' a girl no more, daddies little girl is a fucking whore
She'll suck all the cock just to get her twenty rock
Hand her a syringe
She's always on a binge
Casey needs a hand
She can't even stand
Well I swear that we've been here before, both passed out now on the floor
Track mark souvenirs from the nights she strayed away from her fears
Daddies little girl doesn't need a new dress, daddies little girl needs a cigarette
She wants but to feel anything that feels to real
Hand her a syringe
She's always on a binge
Casey needs a hand
She can't even stand
She can't stand
Give her a fix