Tony Paris & The Sugar Burn

Mutant blues garage stomp pop through an inside cheek after too many sweets. Jellyrolls. Muffin-tops. Soda fountain. Bottoms up the mountain then empty calorie chest valley. Pixie stick permanent heart burn. Rush. Crash. Garbage can slam doo-wop under streetlamp. That’s the Everly Brothers in a dust-up with their priest in between. That’s Buddy Holly on a slurred words bender, three days deep.