If there's one thing Tim Armstrong and Lars Frederiksen really dig writing about putting drugs, poverty, depression, and rebellion aside — it's places. Comb through Rancid's discography and you'll hit at least a couple dozen references to locales, especially cities, spread across the planet. Among other spots, the band has talked about Shanghai, Memphis, Olympia, Wash., Sierra Leone, Detroit, and, on several occasions, New York City.

Of course, the Berkeley-bred outfit has a special soft spot for California. “Brad Logan” begins with references to Santa Ana and Anaheim Hills, “Outgunned” mentions Bakersfield, “Civilian Ways” nods to Marysville, and a bunch of songs allude to Los Angeles. Rancid's feelings on its native state aren't warm and cuddly all the time — in “Antennas,” “Let California fall into the fucking ocean” is chanted like a prayer that best come true — but ultimately, the group does love California very much.

Unsurprisingly, Rancid has dedicated heaps of songs to the Bay Area. “Roots Radicals,” “Otherside,” and “Red Hot Moon” all mention Campbell while “Ben Zanotto” and “Nihilism” talk about Sharmon Palms, referencing a street (and/or maybe an apartment complex) in the same city. “Lulu” brings up the San Francisco Bay, and “Brixton,” “Sidekick,” “As One,” “Another Night,” and other tunes are peppered with mentions of Oakland. Though most of Rancid's Bay Area references are benign shout-outs or little details used to set a song's scenery, the band does occasionally mine the terrain to say something poignant and meaningful about humanity as a whole.

The group released Honor Is All We Know yesterday, marking Rancid's eighth studio full-length and first since 2009. This new album stream video below is a perfect example of the band's hometown pride, as we follow them on 80-East, past 924 Gilman, through Albany, up Solano and into Berkeley and Oakland before getting on the Bay Bridge to the city. In honor of the new record and the band's de facto status as the Bay Area's best punk rock tourism ambassadors, here are five of its most intriguing tracks about home.

“Daly City Train”
...And Out Come The Wolves (1995)

Key lyrics: “Yeah, he's shooting dope in the men's room/At the station, Daly City train/Have you ever seen an angel?/Well, I know I have/See, they'll stay here for a while/Then they fly away.”

This track recaps the life of Jackyl — wandering outcast, artist, poet, and pal to Rancid — while testifying to the positives of feeling free even if your life looks really fucked up to strangers. Fundamentally, “Daly City Train” should be depressing as hell since it finds Jackyl getting his fix in a public bathroom and eventually dying from unspecified reasons, but in execution, the song shines with optimism. Jackyl was someone who waded through a tangled, imperfect life and remained who he wanted to be along the way. In mentioning that the last time he saw Jackyl was when the guy was drinking a beer, Armstrong preserves this memory as a symbol of true freedom.

“Tenderloin”
Let's Go (1994)

Key lyrics: “She know she is/She knows she's going/Down below where the fire's glowing/Tenderloin, tenderloin, tenderloin.”

Although “Tenderloin” never makes it explicit that it's about the S.F. neighborhood, a pair of pointed references — namely, to Larkin Street and Treasure Island — give away the song's context. In a nicely sly trick, Rancid uses the word “Tenderloin” to reference both the area and the song's subject—a loosely sketched hooker who, although dehumanized by her lifestyle, doesn't regard herself as a victim and still holds her head high. On paper, the track is bare bones in terms of detail and leaves ample room for interpretation, but the vagueness actually works in Rancid's favor since listeners can easily flesh out this character for themselves. 
“Journey to the End of the East Bay”
...And Out Come The Wolves (1995)

Key lyrics: “Reconcile to the relief/Consumed in sacred ground for me/There wasn't always a place to go/But there was always an urgent need to belong.”

The two-year blast of heavenly light that was Operation Ivy is the reason Rancid exists, and Armstrong uses this track to recap the band's joys and tribulations. Akin to “Daly City Train,” it's a celebration of life for a dead friend. Even though “Journey” hardly paints a totally positive portrait of its title subject — one passage goes, “Matty came from far away/From New Orleans into the East Bay/He said this is a mecca/I said, 'This ain't no mecca, man/This place is fucked'” it still fondly contextualizes and memorializes Op Ivy while noting the importance of that band's stomping ground.

“Salvation”
Let's Go (1994)

Key lyrics: “There's a neighborhood called Blackhawk/Where all the rich people hide/I was down on my luck working for the Salvation Army/The shelter is where I reside/Every day, we drive into Blackhawk and we pick up the offerings/Microwaves, refrigerators for the suffering.”

Nowadays, it’d seem real rich for Rancid to put together a song like this considering the mainstream success the band experienced in the mid- and late 1990s, but class envy once burned very brightly in the band's sound. As Armstrong juxtaposes his cruddy life with a resentful portrayal of the wealthy, the folks from the planned city of Blackhawk don't actually sound all that bad since they're at least willing to give their (presumably nice) stuff over to the Salvation Army instead of trashing it. 

“East Bay Night”
Let The Dominoes Fall (2009)

Key lyrics: “Well, Grandma stands on the very same land on the old house up on the hill/You can see the San Francisco Bay, Alcatraz, Albany landfill/And reminisce on the front porch under a yellow light/Another East Bay night.” 

Rancid has had several moments of spitting in the face of tradition and upholding defiance as a value worth striving toward, so it's always nice to hear them do a song like “East Bay Night”—a love letter to their roots that's genuinely gushing and utterly loving. After he's done connecting himself to memories of the Bay Area, Armstrong going, “When there's nothing to say/Just look into the Bay/You know some things/They just feel right/Another East Bay night,” it's a sharp punk rock song that feels as comforting as an heirloom quilt.