Hard Girls are a great band. They probably listen to Silkworm and Pavement on a regular basis; you can hear it in the way they understand a song is something that can march along with subtleties, exploding somewhere near the end. Or, they can be the opposite of all of that and just kinda knock it the fuck out, having a blast. You could call it innocence but that wouldn't necessarily make a whole lot of sense as they've been doing this for a while. Either way, it's enjoyable. They write cool songs. Isn't It Worse has nine new ones. Sometimes it's just that simple.

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1. Focus on the Tedium
2. Hot for the Halo
3. My Buddy Valentine
4. Second Glimmer
5. Fed by the Eater
6. Swamp with Potential
7. Mary Anne
8. San Francisco
9. Major Payne

Recorded at Sharkbite studios by Skylar Suorez.

Layout by Jeff Rosenstock

thanks to: Skylar Suorez, Jeff Rosenstock, Mike Park, Bob Vielma, every band ever, all friends, all cool family, everyone that donated and has helped us out.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.


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Focus on the Tedium

You put a top on pink lemonade
and the hope is gone
and then you watch it pop off
Now you slip on pink lemonade
and the faith is lost
and you back's all wet
all pink all wet all pink
Shit pizza shit food shit life

Well today is just a stop-gap for tomorrow
I was holding out, I was hoping.
But all the truths are etched in broken bones,
When you focus on the tedium.

Hot for the Halo

I had a dream I was a liar
and when I woke up it was true,
And in the haunted morning daylight
There was nothing left of you.

And I was hot for the halo,
Hot, hot, for the halo.

I was dreaming of the sun,
while we were peering through the trees.
When we descended into fog
There was nothing down beneath.

And I was losing,
I'm always losing out.
I was losing you.

And I was hot for the halo,
Hot, hot for the halo.

My Buddy Valentine

Ham-fist man
with the crushed can hand
are you bleeding man?
Did you see which way he ran
Jumped right in the back of my tan Ford van

And you hang out
You hang out with your friends again
On the crushed can cigarette couch
The worn out couch with the holes in it

Where did you go?
The preacher preached pretty
on the way to the city now you're alone
smoking a Kool on the side of the road
You blow an "O" and a little bit out your nose
you know these aren't the only smoke tricks I know
I got twenty I got plenty we're giving shows

At the hang out
When you hang out with your friends again
On the crushed can cigarette couch
The worn out couch with the holes in it

Second Glimmer

The first time we made out was underneath the Giddings bridge
Faces slurping and smacking hands tentative grabs the retreating
We move like two dancers who can't see each other
Like two musicians who can't hear what the other is playing

And I think we invented awkward
at least that's how it seemed to me
Just trying to fit our faces together

You got some dirt on your back let me brush it off
Let's hold sweating hands for the next block
You see them pointing and laughing just let it roll right off

Fed By the Eater

I got wasted on orange juice at 8 years old and it bit me in the back
I got the worst hangover
I got high on chocolate-covered espresso beans at 12 or 13
I got the worst headache
I got addicted to My Little Pony at 8 or 9 and it took up all my money and time

Well the last hope almost lost it
when a gangster's ghost took him but
belief can turn a man into a monolith.
And if you'd believe in me,
I could drive a spike right into the world.
We came,
and we saw,
but we couldn't see what was next.

It took up all my money and time.

Swamp With Potential

Yeah I ducked behind a trashcan
when I saw you coming,
I didn't have the words and I knew I couldn't stomach
the way your eyes gather shape in mine
without the words that I needed to say to you.

What you're looking for you won't find in me,
There's no sense of love
or human poetry,
Just a blackened fist of ashes in the corner of a trashcan
that I'm ducking behind.

I'm always saying something stupid,
like "I'm not John Berryman, I'm stupid"
or "I'm not Solzhenitsyn, I am stupid,"
and it's a waste of time.
Because it's stupid
to fetch for something fake but fairly striking
the world cut out their eyes
replaced with dollar signs,
sizer than sizeway lines,
and we're mired in slant rhymes.

And so we say
that there's nothing to say.
All the silence and the horror sidle up along the boredom
with their stupid rhymes.
Why can't we say
what we're meaning to say?
Oh, I swamp with potential
and I know I'll find the words I need to say to you.

Yeah I swamp with potential
but I'm always just singing these stupid fucking rhymes.


Mary-Anne kisses are catch-as-catch-can
and I don't think we can do the things that you wanted to
'cause now I'm working nights and me and the manager we're getting pretty tight
I'm trying to get that raise that I promised you

3am in the kitchen door you called me a liar
I know I never did it before but I really did sleep on his porch all night
I had a few beers and I got a little too uptight people do it all the time

Mary-Anne I'll take you out again as soon as I can
But dinner and a movie might not be exactly how we planned
Because the money I had in line I guess it kind of ran out
I hope you don't mind a rental and some take-out
Do you think that it would be fine just this one time?

2am on the kitchen floor you called me a lover
I know we never did it before it was a perfect end to a perfect night
I had a few beers and you were looking pretty alright let's do it one more time

San Francisco

Go on and tell them all you know
about me:
that I was sad, and loose, and wild,
but never free.

Because the past, it grabs you by the throat
and it holds you down and it takes you hope,
and it leaves you.
Except it never leaves you.

So I'm moving to San Francisco,
I'm gonna come up from out of the night.
I'm moving to San Francisco,
and in the bottled glass apartment haze
I will see the light.

I was lost
before I got found.
And when they found me I was drunk,
and snapped in half,
and lying on the ground.
I was through,
through and through,
nothing new,
nothing new.

I was looking for a chord to strike,
but the notes they wouldn't come out right.
They were all wrong.

So I'm moving to San Francisco,
I've got to come up from out of the night.
I'm moving to San Francisco,
and through the water reflections on the wall,
I will see the light.

Major Payne

I keep a bottle of liquid pain
beside the bed in case the rain isn't gloomy enough
I want to feel it in my guts man tearing them up
from the inside out tearing them apart so I can pass out

I keep a bottle of headache pills
beside the bed in case the pain is just too much
I want to feel it in my bones man breaking them up
From the inside out breaking them apart so I don't have to go out

If you are what you say you are,
how could you seem what you seem to be?
And if you are what you say you are,
how could you seem how you seem to me?