Famous Last Words

by Sammy Warm Hands

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.
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  • "Famous Last Words" is back and better than ever! One year after its sold-out debut, Sammy Warm Hands has re-edited and expanded his musical memoir. Includes a bonus chapter ("Vacant Eyes"), new photos, and an extended discography with 113 releases!

    Description (first edition):
    "Famous Last Words" tells the tale of how a young punk musician became one of the most prolific and versatile artists in rap. In his own words, Sam Wartenbee gives the back story behind more than 35 albums; over 17 years of non-stop music-making.

    Discover the origins of Take 92 Music one album at a time: from the failure of his promising punk band, to the emergence of a hip-hop persona, "Famous Last Words" takes you on a journey that's as disarmingly honest as the songs themselves.

    "Very readable... an engaging mix of pathos, anger, and humor." - William Kennedy, Eugene Weekly

    "Sammy Warm Hands is one of my favorite rappers you've never heard." -Brando, SYFFAL.com

    Includes unlimited streaming of Famous Last Words via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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  • The Oldschool Tape
    Cassette + Digital Album

    The Oldschool Tape includes professionally printed cassette package from Flossless Audio, with high quality artwork by Sammy Warm Hands himself. Bonus track included!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Famous Last Words via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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  • The Goddamn CD
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    The Goddamn CD includes professionally printed digipak from Crushkill Recordings, with high quality artwork by Sammy Warm Hands himself. Bonus track included!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Famous Last Words via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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  • The Book: 10 Years of Take 92 Music

    Sammy Warm Hands' first book, "Famous Last Words: 10 Years of Take 92," celebrates the decade anniversary of Take 92 Music. From the failure of his promising punk rock band, to the unexpected emergence of a hip-hop persona (Sammy Warm Hands), "Famous" takes you on a journey that's as disarmingly honest as the songs themselves. 35 albums (chapters); 255 pages.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Famous Last Words via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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  • The Deluxe Edition
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    The Deluxe Edition includes "Famous Last Words" on CD (Crushkill Recordings) and cassette (Flossless Audio); plus a copy of the new book, "Famous Last Words: 10 Years of Take 92 Music."

    Includes unlimited streaming of Famous Last Words via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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Sammy Warm Hands (Crushkill Recordings) is a prolific emcee, songwriter, producer, author, and director. Beginning as a punk singer/guitarist in the late 1990's, Sam Wartenbee developed an impressive discography before even graduating high school. His one-man company, Take 92 Music, has produced more than eighty records, eight US tours, a slew of music videos, a documentary, a concert DVD, and a book.

Last year, SYFFAL said "Sammy Warm Hands is one of my favorite rappers you've never heard... he gets not an ounce of the recognition he deserves." His last album, Bears Repeating, was named one of 2014's top 10 albums by Sound Convictions.

A new Sammy Warm Hands album, Famous Last Words, is due on April 7th; distributed on CD (Crushkill Recordings) and cassette (Flossless Audio). Famous will be released in conjunction with his first book, by the same name, which chronicles 17 years of recording history.


released April 7, 2015

Beats and scratches by K.I. Design
Lyrics, arrangements, artwork, photos,
and everything else by Sammy Warm Hands


all rights reserved



Take 92 Music Eugene, Oregon

Sammy Warm Hands is a songwriter, emcee, producer, director, and author.

In 2005, he created Take 92 Music, producing more than 100 releases including Dead Fucking Serious, The ILLusionists, This Day's End, and more.

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Track Name: Famous Last Words (Nobody Gives a Fuck)
Famous Last Words

Worst name in the rap game, attack like Bane
Knock you down proper to your knees like back pain
But I couldn’t pretend, or fool you for a second
that I’m the coolest around—I get lost in my own town
Never go out—I’d rather stay at home
Write a song, lay it down, play the demo on my phone
It’s all I’ve ever known, selling CD’s since 16
Scratch that—14—this shit just fits me
A bored teen needing, pleading for his place
Feeding on weekly fixes of mixtapes
So I’d come home from school, crank the distortion
Noise to skill ratio way out of proportion
But it felt right and it still does
Melt mics and I kill clubs, always making ill stuff
Filled up my living room wall with any and all
of my favorite posters I’ve hosted for y’all
And if you haven’t noticed, or I failed to mention
I’ll slow roast opponents—to answer the question:
First name Sammy, last one standing
Last known photo: first crash landing

I just dropped a new track
I got a video, too
We got CD’s and shirts in the back
Yeah? Well fuck you, too

As for the rest of you, suck on my motherfucking testicle
The day I leave rap, I’ll even eat my vegetables
and shut up like we’re stuck up in an ATM vestibule
with a Victoria’s Secret model laying next to you
Now I’ve probably got the audience mad at me,
so I’ll set the record straight and clear it up like Loratadine
What you’re hearing a strategy: managing sanity
the only way I actually know to keep from damaging my psyche
Otherwise it might be likely I’d incite a violent riot;
people lined up to fight me like

How many butts am I gonna have to cut
before you people realize not to be dummies?

I’m through debating dudes complaining while hallucinating
dues they’re paying like a fucking Lucifer painting
‘cause I’m a practiced athlete; lapped you at the fastest track meet
and slapped your ass back to last week
Kicking anus, I’m heinous like that
Famous last words: I’ll be right back
Track Name: Before Doors Open (feat. ThatKidCry)
You'd be surprised to see the other side of the grind,
to find that I'm only on stage part of the time
While the rest is spent writing, organizing, recording, booking,
designing/ordering shirts, promoting, and getting signed
is the last thing on my mind, especially while on tour
Spent the whole day driving, not living it up, but surviving
Finally arriving, not even seeing a flyer or poster
Getting fired up—gotta find the promoter
Making sure we get the guarantee before doors open
or be worried all night, distracted
Hoping that i move a lot of merch at the table, so we can eat
I've got bills left at home, working three days a week
isn't cutting it—on one hand I'm really loving it
But on the other, I don't have the funds to be fronting it
And trust when I say the saddest part of the day
isn't only being homesick; putting away
seven CDs and three different shirts from the merch booth
without having sold a single thing is the worst, dude
The walk of shame: it hurts learning a lesson
but get the details in writing, no second guessing
because if I leave pissed, I flee to the next state
find a Motel 6, after some time to rest
Late check outs are the best, 'cause if we left too early
walk around bullshitting and spend the little we're earning
Then we're back at square one with negative funds
Gotta borrow each others money to make it through lunch
And it sucks, but you can make it up another night
No matter how rough it gets you never give up the fight

Alright, you nevermind why we get this far
Yo, gimme the mic for two seconds—let me spit this hard
We livin' the life where rent's due, but we hit these bars
Drinking 'em free, on some tickets 'til they snip us off
I'll take the scissors and I'll shove 'em up their asshole
Threaten 'em for gas just to infiltrate their cash flow
You are the friend that promoters never asked for:
Charge you for your tickets that you don't have the fans for
New... you don't mind, you give 'em two hundred dollars
Grinding just to sell 'em, you're takin half off the offer
You only sell three tickets, which is 15 bucks
That's a hundred eighty-five for people to give me love
Still I'm showin' up, I travel early to the venue
I get one free drink... off the special dollar menu
Forget you... I learned my lesson on my 5th rap show
With a glorified local that just reps one flow
I moved on, now I struggle and I go on the road
Rent money's still late, had no shower, I'm broke
So Sammy, he said it perfect, yo, it's something I know
I'll never stop spitting letters anywhere that I go
We out
Track Name: Ferguson Freewrite (feat. Rabbi Hanan Sills)
Who ya gonna call when they break in your crib?
Who ya gonna call when they're taking your kids?
I hate to say it, but it ain't Ghostbusters
Armchair activism's at most lackluster
I'm gonna drop an unpopular stance
like France—non violence is our obvious chance
If you've chosen a side, then you're on the wrong one
We're all one people when it's all done and said
No more dead! This ain't ship trap island
Knowledge Reigns Supreme, stop the constant violence
Whether you're protesting, throwing rocks and bottles,
or you're police arresting the Boston Bombers
If you're caught spitting in the face of feds,
or cops beating a bleeding face to shreds
Innocent bystanders, or folks standing ground
with iPhone cameras, commanding crowds
Hold each other accountable, try and end the cycle
People fighting in the streets over another Michael Brown
Whatever might go down, it's the system
Gotta treat the cause, not attack the symptom
Don't make another victim or twist a fact
Saying when did THIS cop turn into THAT
Showing pictures of a neighborhood patrol in the 40's,
juxtaposed with a SWAT team from here this morning
Well I remember watching TV back in the 90's
Bank robbers shooting cruisers on live news nightly
with an AK 47 and ski mask
So when you see police with armor, know they'll probably need that
And I hope they never do
And protests don't turn into April 29th: Part 2
Because a peaceful demonstration shouldn't ever require
a piece for intimidation—open arms not open fire
I've seen inmates teeth knocked out right on tape
I've seen handcuffed people beaten down by the state
It's sickening, and we can't condone the affair
And if you get stopped, then keep your hands in the air
'cause a kid in the midwest just lost his life
for reaching down to his waist line at the wrong place/time
And an elderly lady was shot in a raid
The SWAT got the wrong address, but the point that i'll raise
is that if she hadn't been packing a gun in her purse
then she wouldn't have thought to fire a shot, making worse
out of a bad situation—life and death in confusion
Escalating what she thought must've been a robber's intrusion
I'm not likely convincing or even preaching to the choir
but if you advocate for weapons, then know you're dealing with fire
If you open the door to that level of force
then the government escalates it to settle, of course
So everybody is scared of one side or another
Preparing the largest arsenal you can buy in a summer
So the lower and middle classes are fighting each other
We're so distracted by clashing that we're dividing in numbers
And what we’re failing to recognize, time and again,
is that they're pulling our pants down and sliding it in
It's the inherited wealth from slave masters' ancestors
bleeding us dry so their accountants add faster
I don't believe in the illuminati
but it isn't hard to see they their money do the talking:
Lobbying, intimidation, media manipulation
fabricated information on your favorite station
It's the 1800's—fining people for educating the slaves
Keep us ignorant and lead through the maze
So put yourself in another person's shoes or we all lose
Disarm the world or blow it up, what do y'all choose?
Track Name: Midnight (feat. Lisa Vazquez)
It’s morning—the hours all but vanished
No more snoring ‘cause there’s an opportunity to take advantage of
and she won’t let it slip away—too determined
No obstacle is conquered if you often lose your purpose
So she studies on her breakfast, eggs over textbook
Crossed off the check list, forgot about her necklace
Priorities changing what she thought was so important
before chasing possibility; the promise so enormous
She’s out of bed, fed, and read the chapter review
Off to school, kept to herself, would only chat for a few
‘cause she was acing that test, no chance to redo
Just execute the first time and bid the classroom adieu
‘Cause after 4:00 it’s right back to working the lobby
Drive across town to stir a couple more cups of coffee
Count the minutes until the shift ends at last
and count the days ’til it’s finished and this is all in the past

We make ourselves go crazy
for the things we think we need
Self-sabotage the future
Call it fear or call it greed
There's a better path
May it be the one you lead
'Cause workin for a living
doesn't have to make you bleed

It’s midnight—she really needs to go to sleep
but we’ve hardly even seen each other all this week
That’s the price of all this ambition:
working twice as hard; sacrifice, part of a grand vision
Sandwiching minimal sleep & long hours
between a lack of relax days off and hot showers
Looking for a release, just for a moment
And then it’s back to the plan of attack: have to keep going
if she’s ever gonna make it out of this routine
Being stuck behind a counter, taking orders from rude teens
Every part of her, from her hair to her shoe soles
is dying to take off this apron and trade it for new goals
and the freedom of living on your own terms
No more working double shifts and going onto homework
Running out of steam, infatuated with a dream
But she acclimated and graduated with esteem

Time keeps on ticking
Work so hard to fulfill your mission
It's your life, don't need to ask permission
to walk the path of a life worth living
Track Name: Dan Sammo (feat. Man Danno)
Save the mistletoe, misses, I'm a misanthrope
Vicious to the wishing bone, I keep it reel like a fishing pole
While you bitch and moan, pitching infinite fits
Soliciting sympathy like a timpani roll

I've unearthed lost thoughts, like if you cursed at your boss
I let it marinade: toss it in the worcestershire sauce
Sing a serenade like a bird perched on a cross
And when we reach the finish line, I'll be the first one across
You're Twilight, you're 50 Shades of Grey
You're Diet Coke with aspartame
I've ascertained a lasting name
'cause we'll care for rhyme quotations
Even wheelchair fans stand for my ovations!

I rhyme so nice you thought I dropped the same word twice
or even Thrice like Breckenridge guys trikes
Your favorite emcee tries the rhyme schemes,
but ain't got themes like I've intertwined between lines
A brief rewind finds my detail's sublime;
worthy of obscene fines like a female's hind quarters
I don't mind orders, I defy borders
Ignoring the chorus to rhyme with undefined morals
Only the most divine royalty dines with wine holders
but i'm not wearing a monocle, try bifocals
You can't buy focus...
unless you're selling a sedan to a couple nice yokels
Until I'm worldwide/global, I'm 'a talk more shit
than nine moguls COMBINED on my vocals
'cause I'm whiter than five opals in rice with Thai locals
and more of a prick than pine needles on Christmastime nobles
Track Name: Anti-Fun
Fuck the party—you guys are dumb
Everybody make way for the Anti-Fun
I don't give a rat's ass (two shits) or a flying fuck
'cause not all emcees get high and drunk

I said
Fuck the party—you guys are dumb
Everybody make way for the Anti-Fun
You're having a good time and pounding beer

I'm the sore thumb, black sheep, fourth rung athlete,
poor bum, and every skateboarder with acne
In fact, we only interact here on stage
I'm hardly comfortable with others, slap ink on page
to bridge a gap, via music as a form of communication,
while conversation has me losing patience and motivation
So if I sit and sulk in the corner, looking disinterested,
it's 'cause my head is spinning like the tread on your Michelins

So take your hands and throw 'em up like bulimics
I want to know how many motherfuckers came here to see us
'cause I just drove a vehicle that's big enough to haul a Prius
full of merch that we can sell and hope to feed us
So if I give the impression that I'm pretentious or elitist,
I've got trouble on my mind like Chuck with diabetes
And with two eyes the color of the sky in the summer
I'm gonna poop on a Koopa like i'm a Mario brother

It goes puff, puff, pass—no really, I pass
I don't wanna get stupid with your dumb fuck ass
Not drunk punk, strapped with a sawed off
Maybe this is the part when y'all turn the song off
Hooked you with a chorus and a laugh
like I'm making a joke, but I'm a bait and switch your ass
I've played shows in every gross dingy bar,
made to choke more smoke than a lit cigar
Crash pads' hosts boasting a tinge of tar
with a tin guitar, 10 cigarettes, and a pretend ninja star
That's normal for some,
but I don't fuck with that shit back where I come from
Breathalyzer's on, or synthesizer's off
DUI drivers talk to the firing squad
You're spitting about snitching, implicating your admission
while I'm pitching my position for reviving prohibition
Track Name: The Story of Our Lives: Part 2
Ever since you told me the story of our lives
I think about your troubles all the time
Ever since that night, when you took me on a ride
and told me all about why I'm alive

When my parents separated, I was one year old
The memory is shaky, but from what I was told
My father had a problem: he was intoxicated often
Always off and getting high until my mom tried to stop him
When I was born, he dropped the habit and kicked it
until one day he disappeared, and I don't know the specifics
But she had seen it before and wouldn't submit
Wishing his lies hadn't resembled her own father's condition
Seeing her sister as a runaway, pregnant, thirteen
Leaving reasonable suspicion that it could catch up and hurt me
So it was worth it to her, even though it was hard
to sacrifice the marriage and carry his clothes to the yard
But at the time she filed for divorce, I was with Dad,
so she antagonized him to point of raising his hand
Filed a restraining order, court granted her custody later,
and that's the sacrifice she made to keep me safe from the danger
She was never going to settle for any less than what
she thought I deserved, she tried to give me the best life
So she and I moved in to Gandma's apartment
That's my earliest memory, that's when my life really started
My step dad entered the picture by the time I was two
He moved into the same complex, next to the school
and the first time Steve caught a glimpse of my father,
Dad was fleeing three cops, a motorcycle, and a chopper
They would've only pulled him over in traffic
But unbeknownst to them, he had a warrant
So he chose to wreak a little havoc
Saying if he had stopped, they would've had to impound it,
but if they caught him at home, they'd leave it right where they found it
He was on and off drinking and drugs for many years
Another time, he was arrested while I was still in the rear of the car
Back seat, (he was) hauled off to the station
Frightened, I couldn't handle the weight of the situation
I'm sure my mom was full of frustration for having left
and somehow seeing me stuck in this same fucking mess
She was sympathetic, I guess
He was a pathetic mess, and yet she gave us the chance to connect
So we'd occasionally visit, knowing he's only a call away,
but his phone was disconnected almost all of the holidays
One time we stopped by and he wasn't there
A random man answered the door, I was sad and embarrassed
I remember my parents, Mom and Steve back at home
They explained the situation, told me I'm not alone
That's when I started to see the world the way that it is
The weight of every decision, especially raising kids
This is the shit that I live with, so if you criticize my lyrics
then apparently you're the very parent whose interference
with the growth of their family in favor of selfish vanity
served as a proper catalyst for a personal tragedy
Now your cataclysmic family wants nothing to do with you
or you're too disappointed, and grief has all but ruined you
Isolation seems easier, merely speaking to your son
is just too difficult—can't even stand what he's become
Got his sense of wrong and right from analyzing your mistakes
and had a surrogate father 'cause you just couldn't just hit the brakes
And by the time that you did, we forged a friendship at least
But it's forgotten when we disagree, or that's how it seems
You speak to me as if I were emancipated by the state
but it was YOU who made the decision, sealing our fate
I never wanted this; I reached out more times than I can count
This is a Mayday now, but I'm not over and out
I went 13 years without a positive father
and I'm not interested in falling victim to any drama
So if you've got a problem, then make amends
and I'll be waiting for the day that we can call each other friends
Track Name: Vacant Eyes
Some days I want to live
Other days I want to die
Well, maybe most days I want to die
But no matter how it eats me,
it never defeats me
Keep moving, never stop to wonder why

I work for pennies over minimum wage,
giving the minimum of effort as I go
But even if I’m totally devoted to the show,
the duality of life takes a toll
Waking in the PM and writing at night
'til the delight of my creation is revealed
It’s beautiful, dutifully developing a labor of love
before the shove comes to push the repeal
of the grace and fluidity, abruptly interrupted
by the sound of an alarm in the morning
For a short commute, I’m afforded the pursuit
of placating lazy customers
Ignoring the fact that I’m wasting my life
(with) every hour that I forfeit, forging a fate I’d rather forget
But every day I wake and rise, with fading vacant eyes
and tell myself a story made of lies

$80 on groceries, weekly
That’s what it costs to feed me
Once upon a time, we used to split it
But that was years ago, before I took my day job and quit it
For a minute, we both believed that it was temporary
But the path to success sucks, so I carry the guilt
Embarrassed of the constant imposition
and my inability to contribute in my condition
But this music takes more than I can balance between
with a full-time job
It’s not callous or mean, it’s simply what i need
I’m glad to have a partner who understands
but sometimes it makes it harder
‘cause I wanted to provide when she was going to college
and now she’s started a business—I can only acknowledge
that she did it by herself, and I’m proud of her for it
But when i’m handing her the bill it’s still hard to ignore it

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