Here’s punk-disco from hell. The pounding bass feels like consistent punches to the head /gut and the discordant lead guitars feel like razor blades against your skin. Somewhere, Flea from the Chili Peppers is taking notes. Sure, you can dance to it. Though you’ll probably be bleeding to death by the end.
“Down on the disco floor … They make their profit … From the things they sell … To help you cover … All the rubbers you hide … In your top left pocket”
Consume and die.