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I remember my mother and sister coming to visit me at one of the punk rock crash pads I lived in in the early '90s; you know the lay out: the stink of stale beer, wall to wall carpeting covered with paper match ends and bottle caps, pages ripped out of gun magazines stuck to the walls... and a copy of, yes, "Song About Fucking" proped up on the mantle over the non functional fireplace... Great band, so influential.
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