by Husky In Denial

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"Viciously original and endlessly creative, this is the kind of album that reminds me why I talk such a big game about independent music."
- Pepper Coyote, "Look Left"

Husky In Denial's sophomore effort, "KUNG-Fu!" delivers a subversive kick to the teeth. From the heavy intro track "¿Que!" which flirts with metal and drum'n'bass in the same breath, to the 5/4 time hip hop rant, "Gee," Husky In Denial packs a sonic punch in a Faith No More-style free-for-all.


released November 8, 2014

All songs written, recorded, and produced by Buck Riley.

Sample credits are listed by the track.



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Husky In Denial Memphis

Husky In Denial is gutsy music, combining elements of indie rock, progressive rock, and trip hop with animal nerve and autistic eccentricity.

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Track Name: ¿Que!
Let me take your mind and shred it.
Let me take your thoughts for a spin.
I'll turn your brain inside out and mend it.
I'll redefine your thickest sins.

A horseshoe kick to the teeth will send you
Flying out against the gale.
Once you turn and face the tendrils
There's no god that can make you fail.

The greatest conceit is owning power
And knowing that you've earned your keep,
And spending every sleeping hour,
Manipulating bouncing sheep.

The darkest times aren't just ahead.
They've crash-landed in your bed.
Take the time to ask yourself,
"What the fuck is going on here!?"

The kung-fu I wield is nothing special.
I only offer one dog's voice.
It's the howl that their most afraid of,
The sound of riot and rejoice.

We're presented with the utmost caution
A world on precarious terms.
Complacency, our sweet adoption,
Will bury us below the worms.

The darkest times aren't just ahead.
They've crash-landed in your bed.
Take the time to ask yourself,
"What the fuck is going on here!?"
Track Name: Ewe
You he(a)rd
You know the shepherd’s call.
The lamb
Your God
Is at the shopping mall.

You fawn
The windows at your hooves
You know
Your limit
Rises when your dancing to the groove.

The coyote cast his silicon eye over the herd. The clockwork whirled and ticked inside his clever head. This was his chance.
“I can give you more than you’ve ever dreamed of,” he said. “All I ask for is a little food to keep my gears turning, and all will be yours.”

Your wool
That used to keep you warm
You sheered
And sold
Like it wasn’t ever yours.

You peck
The ground under your toes
There’s no-
thing left
The scraps have run out right under your nose.

The mechanical animal was a glutton for mutton. He kept the herd fat on oil and empty calories, loyal with the promise of things to come.
The sheep gave themselves willingly, but no matter how much the coyote ate, his hunger was never sated. It seemed there was nothing he wouldn’t consume.


There was nothing left. The grass was all gone, and the herd was thin. The coyote had taken everything. It was time to take it back.
A cougar cast his eye over the rebelling ewe as the coyote toppled like a skyscraper. The herd stood defiant and proud. This was his chance.
Track Name: ...in...
Hang your breath in a cloud for all to see.
There’s a fire in your lungs begging to be free.
Open your mouth and let it out, and let me in.
Warm the tryst, seal it with our spit. Make me your kin.

Let me in.

Kiss me. Show me what your darkness brings.
Settle into me like dust on strings.
Show me how the wild sings.

The ruddy hue of twilight blooms from spectral sighs.
A subtle blue, the dusk, the moon insists we rise.
We’ll saddle stars and sing to Mars in lunar keys.
We’ll chase the day through the Milky Way and drink the seas.

We’ll catch a glimpse
Of the gloaming imps
Howling their fight against the sun.
We’re safe in tide.
We don’t have to hide.
We know how the wild sings tonight.

You and I are one,
Together, tonight.
Track Name: Gee
My aversion to high fructose bullshit would make you think I’m diabetic,
Avoiding carbon candy clones of sorbitol and diuretics.
So the shit I spit, while, as a whole, largely mimetic,
Is prophetic; I’m showin’ signs of 20/10 vision.

I’ve got X-Ray eyes. It makes me blind to the present.
They see the holy man, evangelist, for the circumcision,
The upper middle class fat pheasant for the peasant,
These clumsy and ambitious paws for the superstitions,

They missed the news cuz there was nothing good on TV.
They missed the woos of every door of opportunity,
They kissed the jewels of a consumerist panoply.
They twist the spools that underline the tapestry.

So, listen, fools, cuz I am here to make you sick.
You’re pissed the stools are floating in your milk and Kix?
Those listless tools in your grasp would stave off harm.
Yeah, fists are cool, but they are nothing without arms.

So bite me! My life is an open maw,
This creature has a +10 to enthrall,
Yawns nightmares of teeth and predator breath,
With just one snap, it would maul you half to death.
Oh, gee! I think I scared a new stain into my pants.
I’ve gotta learn to stop going off on these rants.
In truth, my life has got me laughing in my sleep.
I’m doubled over like I’m Dom Deluise. Oh, gee!

I used to play my hand with my cards held outward, upright,
Trust on my sleeve, my heart open, bleeding dynamite,
Clinging to my innocence like it was a dead hamster.
Aww, who am kidding? I still do.
I can't understand how a man can use a bathroom and
Not think about the person who’s coming in after them. 
Maybe I just can’t pretend I can stand to hear you when you say,
"Don’t do unto me as I might do unto you."

I wax politics, cuz this shit has me frustrated.
We’re Amestris, and the maps have been translated
Into alchemy. When the dust and ferric rust’s faded,
We’ve been spilling blood so the homunculi can be sated.

Give a drunk a cookie, and you know he's gonna want some gin
Give a man his liquor, and you know he's gonna want some sin. 
Transmutations into glass gods and fat wads.
When the cookie crumbles, you’re gonna wish you’d stuck to milk.

So bury me! Our lives are an open grave.
Dig ditches! If your bodies burn, you can’t be saved!
Toss mollies cuz motherfuckers can’t behave,
Or drown on your knees while you try not to make waves.
Gee willikers! I guess I got a little bit off track.
It’s hard to stay focused when I forget to take my crack.
Somebody come and pry this monkey off my back!
Oh, gee! Can we hurry up and cut to commercial?

(Hi, there. Have you ever wanted to dance like former Vice President Al Gore? Well now, for three easy payments of 19.95, you can! with new Al-Gore-Rhythms. Our advanced Al-Gore-Rhythms have been clinically proven to reduce stress, appetite, and fatigue, while simultaneously burning body fat and curing cancer. Don’t you want to dance like our founding fathers intended?)

So salt me! My life is an open sore,
Just a bloody blister of puss and piss and gore,
Gangrenous. They’re gonna have to amputate
My head, cuz it’s filled with yellow bile and hate.
Engulf me! My life is an ocean floor,
Inundated off the coast of a rocky shore.
This world is a sunken ship; we’re lost at sea
In a dark comedy. Laugh it off like Dom Deluise.
Oh, gee!
Track Name: Eff You!
Radio is the new television, a barrage of thinly-veiled materialism and mass cultural brainwashing. Music is packaged in compressed doses of boom and tiss, familiar chords and tonic melodies, ass and greed.
Well, I have one thing to say to the music industry.


I get so sick and tired of hearing the same ol’ shit all afternoon.
I feel compelled toward something new,
But I have to ask myself why, for there’s so many much better than I.
Hello world! I’ve got something to prove!

But as you can see, here’s a melody borrowed from some old crooner I’ve heard before,
But it’s a sound that I adore.
If imitation is flattery, I hope someone copies me!
Coming through! I’m Hip Tanaka like Mother 2!

They said I was too late
They said I'll never make it, no, I'll never make it, no!
Said give me
A hundred thousand dollars
And I'll sell you something good, I'll sell you something good.
Well, 21,
In a dark room alone.
Well, I may never make it,
Said I may never make it, but I
Can't see
The sense in giving up because if I give up, then I'm giving up everything.

All of my doubt,
It what keeps me going.
I have a need to shine.

And I’m a headless chicken,
But I’ve got a yearnin’, yeah, I’ve got a yearnin’, now.
You spin me, it starts to sound familiar.
I’m a broken record.

Yes, you’ve heard it before.
I wrote it again.

Cynicism gets you nowhere.
I can feel myself stagnating
And I can’t be caught waiting with my pants down
Looking like an Emmitt Kelly clown
Collecting dust like statues on my grandma’s top shelf.

My wealth of self worth is as worthless as dirt
Now that I’ve grown up plump with age
I have to learn not to gauge my work
Judging by another man’s merits.

I’m frenetic like a ferret when I write songs
I write wrongs and and cherish my mistakes.
So if you’re here to tell me that the industry's not interested, then fuck you.
If I suck, too, then rest assured,
I hear it from myself all the time, and I don’t need to hear it from you.

So in summation,
Money is debt.
Radio is treason,
War is inevitable,
And revolution is a revolving door.
You’d be happier as a werewolf,
But that doesn’t mean you can’t laugh.
And if someone is gonna tell you that you’re not good enough
To do whatever it is you’re striving to do,
Erect your middle fingers like monuments of stubborn human ingenuity and say