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Famous Last Words

by Sammy Warm Hands

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    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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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 NOBODY GIVES A FUCK I got a video, too NOBODY GIVES A FUCK We got CD’s and shirts in the back NOBODY GIVES A FUCK 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
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 (ThatKidCry:) 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
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?
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
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
Anti-Fun 03:16
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 like "GET ME OUTTA HERE" 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
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
Vacant Eyes 02:28
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



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

For 25 years, Sammy Warm Hands has paid his dues.

From punk to rap to podcasts, he's one of the most prolific and hardworking artists in the underground.

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