Busdriver (Roadkill Overcoat lyrics)

(oh busdriver, he’s a funny one)

busdriver-and-me.jpg

Busdriver @ Khyber in Philadelphia
[youtube S-mcA4neuVc]

*Update* – (I met and had a few awkward moments? words? with Busdriver last night. I will always love his incredible fast-paced lyricism, but I am no longer looking to get jiggy with a marriage proposal or anything. Peace to him as a person, but it’s over between us.)

BUSDRIVER(Roadkill Overcoat lyrics- what up!)

Casting Agents and Cowgirls

Hey…Hey…Hey

You did it, you got it
You wowed the world
Of casting agents and cowgirls
Fess up you’re dressed up to kill yourself

Girl, I’m a walking plan-crash to your moms and dads
Ostentations and crass pulling the gauze off your scabs
Bitch, I negate the myth of the ‘great black boyfriend’
In the Polaroid at the get-together
Wearning a corduroy vest-sweater
So Don’t get that engagement ring engraved
Cuz before we met your thought that hoodrats laid eggs
And that rappers were just sky-pirates with peg legs
But I kick it with you simply for the s%^&s and giggles, playful innuendos
You thought, “he’s just an uber-dred for the federal fiscal cap”
But after brunch, you’ll need
2 Sudafed’s and a disco nap
After I drain your insides with a crazy straw
You ain’t my baby-doll-
”cuz n#$%a you reek of coffee-shop blend”
My baby’s a lollypop that caters to the miss polyglot’s whim”
With addictive agents that outweigh oxycodones
And our phobias perfectly fit
It takes a quirky chick with curvy hips to petrify this working-stiff

You did it, you got it
You wowed the world
Of casting agents and cowgirls
Fess up you’re dressed up to kill yourself
While I’m still on the shelf
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags

I’ll be today’s avatar of the prefab
Then end up a child star in rehab
It’s like a bed-and-breakfast
I’m sending a text message on my key pad
Saying “I have no more to say to my ex-manager(slash)sea hag divorcee
except eat s#$t and die”
My daily commute ends with a fender-bender
Cuz no one acknowledges my ten-year tenure
I’ve got the know-how the thrill your scene
But they want someone lowbrow, a philistine
With iron-on irony for Viacom’s white honkies
They’ll send you a girl wearing tight thongs under nylon gi’s
”let’s all hit”

But I’m not for the gaudy gangbang
the thought of it turns my member to a soggy plantain
and s#$t, I get off on news leads
and your pet mouse meat,
set and poised with sex toys
in your penthouse suite believing you’re Lou Reed
I spit used reeds out the wet mouthpiece
Even when sex appeal is taboo,
electric bills are past due
My head is clear of engineered, election year snafu

You did it, you got it
You wowed the world
Of casting agents and cowgirls
Fess up you’re dressed up to kill yourself
While I’m still on the shelf
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags

I used to say, f#$k it
Wouldn’t placate the functionaries
To busy making playdates with buxom secretaries
But I hope that my homies don’t laugh,
my choreographed dance steps
Are a little effeminate for a sociopath
We’ve been airbrushed so much we look like a claymation zoo
I’m a voice-over on your Playstation 2
But in my hey-day my ethical fiber
would turn stages into firewood

You did it, you got it
You wowed the world
Of casting agents and cowgirls
Fess up you’re dressed up to kill yourself
While I’m still on the shelf
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags

Less Yes’s, More No’s

Less Yes’s, more No’s, and less Yes’s, More No’s and less Yes’s…

A studio audience’s general anesthesia itch
Remedied by ‘chop sui generis” the seminal sleeper hit
From this tag-banger doppelganger
turned non-partisan anti-hero
And the sneaker fits
I’m undeniably left-leaning others got cold feet
It’s because they’re breast-feeding
on this golden teat (of an old elite)
This synthetic mammary gland
of a pop-cult nurse aid in a birdcage
Which is actually an Iraqi oil drum
Mistaken as the divine mother by daddy’s spoiled son
That’s why you die in high numbers
For this populous Texan and his innocuous henchman
You’re a compliant spyhunter
Fresh dried-blood globules on dog tags
are like scarlet opals

Exchanged for fossil fuels
So I charge rigged voting poles
Cuz the day’s autumn hues lie
on a garbage boats on shoals
And an estranged god rules
Urging soccer mom’s to want to carpet bomb
a peace rally on your campus quad
Watch as an Islamic phantom god
is slain by a movie star
In a red, white and blue unitard
On a Fox news sister station,
on cue insipid patrons soft-shoe
We refuse the ruling class in broadcast antennae headdresses
With more no’s and less yes’s
Recon in war zones is your certain death sentence
So we need more no’s and less yes’s
I’ll unzip the sky and reveal
the inner-workings that are hidden
With more no’s and less yes’s
More no’s and less yes’s
More no’s and less yes’s

Every feather a boarding pass
for the fluorescent shuttle soaring past
Forged from remnants of a former me
A hollow bulb that died of the common cold
And you lack the language to appraise
what was my fleshy housing due to my
wild fling with the art scene underbelly
I, a style king toiled over a volley of
ideas and scrutinized today’s news
But I’ve now been reduced to super-sized plates of food
And even this supposed headspace
that hemorrhages with a carbonated fizz
Is auctioned off for bargain rated bids
A sugary glaze is applied to every
unfertilized seedling that my dementia approves
Every aroused spoof
Now childproof
Every emphatic ‘no’
Now and ambivalent ‘yes’

As you know they’re arbitrarily assigned an Axis of Evil
But it can’t be remedied by my on-campus free show
I would hyper-extend this Californian cactus needle
To snag rifle straps and also stab vinyl stacks
But it’s used to inject botox in the cheeks of big-face bills
And I with chipped paint in my gills
Know that elected official and lobbyist have hid waste spills
And also misplaced kills
But in the face of that neo-con Nazi
I am no Noam Chomsky
I’m a nagging teen in baggy jeans
who fixates on frills as bombs drop free
Yes we’re embalmed zombies
Getting all s#%tfaced as interest-rates build on defense shares
But no homie, I’ll die voicing my grievances
Give the bronze urn of this naysayer
to the modern-day Quaker
The long-term of your slave labor
Has been discontinued

This quick-tongue ginsus right-wing filibusters

We refuse the ruling class in broadcast antennae headdresses
With more no’s and less yes’s
Recon in war zones in your certain death sentence
So we need more no’s and less yes’s
I’ll unzip the sky and reveal the inner-working that are hidden
With more no’s and less yes’s
More no’s and less yes’s
More no’s and less yes’s

“Kill Your Employer (Recreational Paranoia is the Sport of Now)”

With long armpit hair
Sticking out like a sore thumb, smelling like dinosaur dung
These hippies are holier than thou at poorly attended peace marches holding cold veggie dogs
I’m not your homie or pen pal though I unload ink cartridges as Red State demigods
Cause smearing a salad on a SUV can’t
Save the black faces at the refugee camp
There is your sterling Sputnik
To compliment your unfurling drug fix
You’ve been hoodwinked the secret brotherhood winks as your heroes push it with a
Branded buttocks
Now he’s an action-pose doll
Clad in the latest fashion faux-pas
Just another rapping know-it-all trying to de-politicize those big business ties
Let me guess, you’re a macrobiotic cuisine prep-cook
With a text book liberal outlook in an oppressed nook
Couch surfing, but your dad’s got employment history at Halliburton
While you dress like wild mermen

Cuz recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer
Cuz recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer

Riddled with neo-expressionism omitted words and arty erasure
You pass out your Green Party favor
Smoking on cush-hash algae at the Bush-bash rally
Mocking army brigade verve
Bar-b-qing sorts of meat substitutes
Arguing at your bleak study group
Shunning pop art in your turtle-neck
Shopping carts with turbo jets
Write Red Cross personal checks
Yet no relief monies are en route
You exchange wistful ki-bi-bos while they prep the missile silos
And Ill fortify the Left’s patron saint
With anti-war cries and face paint
When the GOP appoints a man in tights to read protestors their Miranda rights
This is an anger pact, a teen scratch post
That boast a paperback zine pathos
‘Unsheathe the saber’ says thee blasphemer’s acting coach
And torment the Scientologist at the Cineplex
They are bonafide clansmen in dinner dress
Giving your art loft undertows the thumb and nose

Cuz recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer
Cuz recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer

I don’t join the ranks of ordinary men, uh-huh
I burn flags not oil reserves, uh-huh
I’m no ex-football player Iraqi combatant, uh-huh
Who the f*&^ do you think you’re talking to, uh-huh
I don’t join the ranks of ordinary men, uh-huh
I burn flags not oil reserves, uh-huh
I’m no ex-football player Iraqi combatant, uh-huh
Who the f#$% do you think you’re talking to, uh-huh
It’s me f*^&er, uh-huh
It’s me

Ethereal Driftwood

Y’all want to see tits and ass,

Street grit and sass

As beatniks smoking grass on holiday
-You know what we want-

You’re looking for a grievance to mask, preferably with a fetus in the trash

While you eat quiche and laugh on the Champs-Elysee
-You know what we want-
I’m not down with that B-list staff,

As they yell out Jesus at mass
I’ll be laughing while I knead this mish-mash of pottery clay
-You know what we want-
An appropriated grease-slick slab, posted up as a meat stick add
But I make the average moviegoer too seasick and sad
-You know what we want-
And I’m too caustic to run, for office or be expunged
For my agnostic plunge
-You know what we want-

So what I’ve accomplish and done, is viewed as an off-setted pun
By the posh and young tastemakers
-You know what we want-
An overdone tame premise,
I jump from the plane wreckage
Unscaved yet sunbathed in the rigors of a bass pluck
-You know what we want-
Pop culture’s lame vestiges, I’m an ordained pessimist
With hippie-qualms and
sticky bombs to deter the tank-truck
I’m good for a belly laugh
Covered in a blanket of ash
Leaving with an ankle cast
But sometimes I feel that…

I don’t have what you want
So won’t you accept my humble offerings
Broken TV sets as ethereal driftwood
When you’re on the plan alive with water wings

You’ll think,

‘I didn’t know surrendering felt this good’

I don’t have what you want
So won’t you accept my humble offerings
They want semantics and sniveling

Grams to sniff on a triple-beam
To be hand-picked for a little scene
In a student film
All I have is pamphlets full of liberal zing
Antihistamines in a syringe-sling
A shanty for this fitted king
Of uprooted elm
And they’ve been given solar-powered cars
Trail mix and power bars
Upturned tarot cards
They want to be heralded by wishful teens
In stretch-Hummers and limousines
They’re beyond medicinal means
-You know what we want-
But I gave them a protagonist
The color of cinnamon and mahogany
filtered through award-winning cinematography
And the motherf#$%ing discography of a G
If you don’t like it then kick rocks
I’m pre-history’s disc-jock
Yeah, I know what you wanted homie
but I never had the s#$t in-stock

I don’t have what you want
So won’t you accept my humble offerings
Broken TV sets as ethereal driftwood
When you’re on the plane alive with water wings
You’ll think,
’I didn’t know surrendering felt this good’
I don’t have what you want
So won’t you accept my humble offerings…

Secret Skin

This self-made mogul alpha-male
Now seeks a Dali-lama
To become a cocooned darling larva
I’ll donate my album sales
to what the left-wing stance is,
their pet peeves are the candidates
and wet reeds in their tan lips,
exceeds bandwidth
This self-empowered blog stirs in all you apathetic scensters
From this downward-dogger
Newly flowered songbird
But I used to drive my stretched Humvee
through rap fads like an occupied Baghdad
Looking like a pet monkey
in a one-piece holding a handbag
Now I’m stylized in your art commune
Torturing a TV host,
holding a winnie-roast over car-bombed ruins
Choking on a tapioca ball
In being a sun-drenched life-size Yoda doll
Obsequious banter is protocol (new skin)
Admonished, I withstand the office day singed
Then become counter-culture’s misanthropic statesman
Take wives with a chest full of animal hair,
put their vulvas on pre-heat
Then have an extra-marital affair at the yoga retreat
I’m a wheatgrass fueled, rehashed, eco-friendly hippie freak
Encased in what’s aesthetically pleasing
Marvel at the LA-based, dead artifice
We are all coated in a plastic film
But there lies a thicker layer of secret skin
There lies a layer of secret skin
Under your soft-edit enhanced cosmetic implants
There lies a thick layer of secret skin
A body for you to re-began
’Please give to this undisclosed relieve fund’
Says the liberal with a tealeaf on his tongue
Cuz soldiers are pointing their BB guns at children’s TB lungs
So we’ve sanctioned graffiti fun to slander your figurehead
Hack into amalgamated algorithms that open cells crowded prisons
But I got to get that ‘save-the-world-look’ first
Under that thin veneer, there is a buried sun
An aptly engineered, new planetarium

Working class
Heroism
Is stylish
All season

Sleeveless shirts
Quinoa
Drum circles
Palm-reading

We are all coated in a plastic film
But there lies a thicker layer of secret skin
There lies a layer of secret skin
Under your soft-edit enhanced cosmetic implants
There lies a thick layer of secret skin
A body for you to re-began
We are all coated in a plastic film
But there lies a thicker layer of secret skin
There lies a layer of secret skin
Under your soft-edit enhanced cosmetic implants
There lies a thick layer of secret skin
A body for you to re-began
Under that thin veneer, there is a buried sun
An aptly engineered, new planetarium

Sun Shower

Me and you in love with our
Rule over solid waste
Our artistic merit is questionable
We’ll fall on our face
And I can’t bare the sight
Not to sound pragmatic
But our parents were right
This ain’t adequate
But you can always seek refuge under…

Sunshowers
There’s a place for you, not no place for me under…
Sunshowers
Return to the bourgeoisie while I sift through debris

You view the poverty line as a threshold
For truth in pricey slums
This ain’t art school, it’s a shark pool
Of well-groomed yuppie scum
And they got orders to kill
Watch them fashion your cell
How’d they get a recording deal
When they’re wack as hell
But the chicken-scratch in your sketch book
It mirrors what you loath

Sunshowers
There’s a place for you, not no place for me under…
Sunshowers
Sunshowers
There’s a place for you, not no place for me under…
Sunshowers

They got easels to stain, and uh
People to blame, with their
Egos inflamed, and their
Neat codenames
I saw your sub-genre in a passing glance
It was you and your DJ in matching pants

Sleeping pills and record sleeves
Defaced museum pieces
Concert-goers flailing arms
Taxidermy for the nouveau riche

I don’t need this
I don’t need this…

Sunshowers
There’s a place for you, not no place for me under…
Sunshowers
Sunshowers
I don’t need this, I don’t need this
Sunshowers

Go Slow

Go slow, fall like shadows
Perfect shapeless shape shifter
Earth it glows
Heart is sowing
Galaxy awaits you gate swung open…

Busdriver:
You should hold those splintered bones
spare your exhausted glands
Go slow, trace breath
Leap into these large unpromised hands
Mutter those Ginsberg poems
Cool those worn hooves
Go slow, face your death
Walk into the fiery orange woods

(whiney gross girl chorus again)

The Troglodyte Wins

I should just (get up)
And treat these itchy bedsores
(get up) to making my indie-cred soar
my witty thread bores your kiddy pool party
this self-absorbed crowd is dull and foolhardy
(get up) to face that’s like a homepage
(get up) in a day as long as a stone age
I’m a quadruped pulling your dogsled
Yet in my mind we are all dead

I’m always telling them to (get up)
But they stand-by like bystanders until I (get down)
They’re camera-shy giant pandas and when they (get up)
They can’t comply to my standards especially when I (get down)
They’re camera-shy giant pandas…

Your retro hair band’s gonna blow up
Cuz gay is the new black
And when you stray LA won’t take you back
I’m supposed to spearhead this Christian rap record
And not the musings of a winded fact-checker
So I feel about an inch tall
And I got pre-teens to enthrall
So I pimp all the cost shares, install the software
But still I feel like my back is against the wall

I’m always telling them to (get up)
But they stand-by like bystanders until I (get down)
They’re camera-shy giant pandas and when they (get up)
They can’t comply to my standards especially when I (get down)
They’re camera-shy giant pandas…
You can ward off U.S. wars
By fingering warped fret boards
See we exploit our talents so we can raise kids
Like my homie Trey, he’s the poor women’s Taye Diggs
But when it comes to love I stain the bedding
Catching bouquets at the wedding
But this don’t go hand and hand with your Volkswagon van
Because you voted in a defrosted Cro-Magnon man

The Trogdolyte wins
Because you voted in a defrosted Cro-Magnon man
The Trogdolyte wins
Because you voted in a defrosted Cro-Magnon man

We don’t believe in you

Pompous Posies! Your Party’s no fun

This year I thought I’d do away with celebrity-endorsed barbarism
And keep people guess get a bio-diesel engine
to cut my carbon emissions
Further my career by trading favors with aged ravers
You know, use thee barter system
But I sat on my black ass sucking on sassafras
in my apartment bitching
Last year I was posing on the hood of a Lamborghini
In Gucci glasses and a tan bikini
Dating Meg White, eating tiramisu
I was rapping at a test site, banned from TV
And in therapy too
Full pulling firearms out of jell-o molds
With a sinister grin the color mellow gold
Running from the southland PD

Pompous posies your party’s no fun
Yeah whooptie-do
You can’t offset the OG’s cardio-sponge
Yeah whooptie-do
Though you’ve made millions off us
Yeah whooptie-do
This year we’re getting off our butts
Yeah whooptie-do
Mutherfucker
Yeah whooptie-do

This year I thought I’d cover you
with a thicket of wet unwarranted smooches
Rather than entertain sore feelings at board meetings
with these corporate mooches
Or being run over by un-sober law enforcement douches
It’s sensible that I’m a randy-romper,
a panty-dropper with these whorish pooches
Last year I was passing out Green Party leaflets
When you’re at the chalet on ski-trips
Getting neo-cons all peeved and miffed
Heaving and choking on beef-bits
Cuz I ain’t appeasing shit
Wearing tutus and a Bluetooth in a Subaru
Yeah you too
Can get your knees split, bitch

Pompous posies your party’s no fun
Yeah whooptie-do
You can’t offset the OG’s cardio-sponge
Yeah whooptie-do
Though you’ve made millions off us
Yeah whooptie-do
This year we’re getting off our butts
Yeah whooptie-do
Mutherfucker
Yeah whooptie-do

Last year they made buoys out of bloated bodies in the Big Easy
And nobody liked what the
Blowed embodied yet they bit freely
Rappers used recording booths
like porti-potties being inexplicably cheesy
And I’m an out of work hobo
at the Mojave with a dripping squeegee
This year I’m going to make only one friend
This squatter girl at the opium den
Checking her viral load, wearing a bridal robe
Fresh off her codeine-drug bend
Cuz f@#$ those pop divas
They need pitch shifters and Brita pitchers
full of mixed liquor, I’m a clit piercer
Of that bitch nigga that manages you

Pompous posies your party’s no fun
Yeah whooptie-do
You can’t offset the OG’s cardio-sponge
Yeah whooptie-do
Though you’ve made millions off us
Yeah whooptie-do
This year we’re getting off our butts
Yeah whooptie-do
Mutherfucker
Yeah whooptie-do

(Bloody Paw on the) Kill Floor

Buy now, I kill for a living
Buy now, I kill for a living…

I’m fitted for a heat-resistant sleeve
Keep your distance please
Your persona’s in question my phosphorescent skin
makes your heat pistons freeze
I’m a hallucinogen pez-dispenser, led ventures
With a group of umpla-lumpa parachute troopers
Who discredit theories and behead your mentors
Who can radio wave windsurf to invert what is common knowledge
I will insert my solemn promise to style until my limbs burst
Negotiate with marketing consultants, giving me the once-over
Wearing grim smirks
They would like me to convert my gritty edge
To unearth my earning potential
But my face is so sun burnt
Due to all the grassroots grunt work
That I won’t be co-opted
And every photo-op needs to be photoshopped cropped and snipped
But I’m a street vendor kinds sir
This style-free is dopamine
It’s a meat tenderizer at the gallery opening

You can join my suicide cult
Membership is free
Take these cyanide eye-drops
And peppermint hemlock
This is what you have been billed for
Dancing on the kill floor
To vibrant woofer, clients butchered to a film score
This is what you have been killed for
Dancing on the kill floor
To vibrant woofer, clients butchered to a film score

Contrast bohemia to my workplace
When I’m racing in carpool lane
to sell shit to an art school lame
-Don’t you think you’re hot shit
Well what do you have to offer-
A dead archetype able to be purchased on a credit card swipe
But they can they pinpoint and nail
My distance between art and commerce
With just an invoice of a sale
I will disappoint an ail
Those who want to deny us the majority rule
When a will jump in my primordial pool
Without knowing where their swim trunks were
But not everyone knows
What they’re called on to encumber
You can’t know by just logging on with a pin number
Buy now
You pasty Brits
Buy now
You crazy chicks
Buy
Cuz I don’t pay attention to rules,
regulations or safety tips
Love us
Eligible bachelors
Love us
Cuz we’re the Blowed rappers
Loved
Cuz I tour the country so much
I can do it blindfolded with no road atlas
Unrelated to your three-legged
preachy bootleggers will do away with you
CD duplicators make vegans
Do the salad bar swing-pivot
Wave your valid parking tickets
At the endangered sea-urchin
Tell me the name of your political activist key person
And I’ll tell you what’s under the blips of the clean version
Of the infamous rap rant
Trickling down the baggy pant leg
of this unhappy class aid
Covered in shell fragments of this
Graffiti tagged glass egg
I can sell anything to a hip-hopper
like it’s my cathartic something
But I don’t make enough to go apartment hunting

You can dance to death
And for no extra charge
Give me your debit card
So you can have sex with stars
This is what you have been billed for
Dancing on the kill floor
To vibrant woofer, clients butchered to a film score
This is what you have been billed for
Dancing on the kill floor
To vibrant woofer, clients butchered to a film score

Buy now,
I kill for a living
Buy now,
I kill for a living…

Mr. Mistake (Bested by the Whisper Chasm)

Wielding racy aphorisms I Billy club your color line
Refusing to join forces with your indie-stud wunderkind
I rather embrace what your city slum undermines
And encourage the idiom bump-and-grind
Sickly glum of unbuttoned minds
I prime my condemned shell to excrete
a lithium honey wine for you frowning f#$%s
When trend arbitrators present my tortured lore adorned
Gags are soaked in chloroform
You get the same if you’re poor in form
With your flip full-tuck and triple-lutz into this icy brook
War is sworn on my forlorned psyche’s soot

(chorus) I’ve got people to disappoint, I got mistakes to make,
How can you believe that I’m not a waste of space,
Oh I’m sorry to disappoint, I seldom save face
But how can I speak your language
when I don’t know my own

I’ve got people to disappoint, I got mistakes to make,
Your eroded innards are my favorite place,
Oh I’m sorry to disappoint, I seldom save face
How can I speak your language?
How can I speak your language?

Too self-assured to ever treat her well
(Kiss the off-colored tree frog)
We turn into black Kebler elves
Opposite elephants on sea-saws
Android man-boy befriends the chic, mod tinker bell
Then runs away from home until my knees throb,
sneakers smell
’Til my every tirade activates Jihad sleeper-cells
’Til flag wavers say, ‘please God we need your help’
Still I’m precarious and flat-footed
Like you’re arrogant at a gun show
I holler at your Marilyn Monroe
With declarative mumbo-jumbo my narrative unfolds
To a housed narcissism
Parented by a bum hole
I cling to pointless ventures
and inveigh buoyant pest verve
I suck

(chorus) I’ve got people to disappoint,
I’ve got mistakes to make,
How can you believe that I’m not a waste of space,
I’m sorry to disappoint
I seldom save face
But how can I speak your language
When I don’t know my own

I got people to disappoint, I got mistakes to make,
Your eroded innards are my favorite place,
Oh I’m sorry to disappoint, I seldom save face
How can I speak your language?
How can I speak your language?

It’s unfitting but I stay all pensive and meek
In cities where girls dress Greek
And food’s too expensive to eat
And niggas gangbang on Sesame Street
I got too many requests to meet

I got people to disappoint, I got mistakes to make,
How can you believe that I’m not a waste of space,
Oh I’m sorry to disappoint, I seldom save face
But how can I speak your language
When I don’t know my own

I got people to disappoint, I got mistakes to make,
Your eroded innards are my favorite place,
Oh I’m sorry to disappoint, I seldom save face
How can I speak your language?
How can I speak your language?
(4moretimes)

Dream Catcher’s Mitt

I fall from the dream-catcher’s mitt
I’m all thumbs
and not what she’s after

My smoldering remains burn over glowing embers
As you ready and position short-term goal tenders
I lay un-kissed at the summer jams
A bag of ruptured glands
Who lacks reasoning to understand
My self-directed hate fits

We mouth the vilest sacrament
And adhere to these tacit skirmishes
All for one day ideal and saffron-drenched
We ate each other’s hearts out of serving dishes

This soft science leaves my body under whelmed
Our ambitious union dissolved out of the color film
And I am just a crude outline
Obscured and pegged and numbered
Dangling from power lines
One of many discarded ex-lovers
Throwing pet food from the red carpet
At de-colorized coupling of heart-shapes
And all the panic-stricken flower maidens
Update their ‘who to hate’ list
My journal entries are irony-laden
And tirelessly self-loathing

We mouth the vilest sacrament
And adhere to these tacit skirmishes
All for one day ideal and saffron-drenched
We ate each other’s hearts out of serving dishes

Falling from the dream-catcher’s mitt,
Falling from the dream-catcher’s mitt….

We’ve mouthed the vilest sacrament

I fell from the dream-catchers mitt

With spooky incantations and dead language motifs

Their defected army become my rogue fleet

Sequestering yahoo, superimposes his frail person

———————————————–

Busdriver writes a whole lot of delicious music. I recommend it all, try some of The Weather, and definitely ‘Map your Psyche’ from Fear of a Black Tangent. Temporary Forever is a recent favorite of mine upon re-visiting. Let’s talk hip hop.

“RoadKillOvercoat—hit the shelves January 30th, 2007- it’s the only cure from your other boring rapper’s”
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“We’ve mapped your psyche
We know what you do before you do
Packaged it nicely
and sold it to who feeds off the style”

“Imaginary places”

(updated (not 100% still) but thanks to a myspace blog from b-driver)

I’m just here to hold your hand when you die
And to show you around imaginary places
Put money lumps in my bloody stump
And I will have a smile thats a perfect circle
Die in your sleep with the sky at your feet
Im shoot you when youre happy, only then will you find peace
How do you do, I dont know Im okay
Every person I know is a secret service agent
Because Ive been accused of lewd conduct
Stole the heart of a prude prom slut
And they got the warrant for my arrest to put me in the loony bin, the funny farm
Cuz of what I did
But Im just here to hold your hand as you die
There is not a single person who can do it better
No needle skipping in my ecosystem
But in the audience may be an evil Christian
HMO how I hate him so
(he)Wants to charge me for a halo
But Im on a scavenger hunt for a lavender chunk
Of the sky, maybe Ill replace it with a mud-pie
I put dead songs on a silk screen
Buy my shirt it is a killed dream
It is known to lead the way to the stairwell to Gods administrative office
And a final farewellIm just here to hold your hand when you die
And to give your assault rifle a banana clip
Glow in the dark when I stroll in the park
Giving everybody informative pamphlets
No sign of life for as far as I can see
Everybody’s just charred meat up in the car seat
Eat shit and die to the secret spy
Cuz I have a funny feeling that Im being watched
24-hour surveillance
Money or power are ailments
But I send the medical supplies and the shipping and the handling is way too much
Cuz Im from the Afterlife
Im just here to hold your hand when you die
Its like I put a cough drop right upon your soft spot
Make Martian clothes out of your garden hose
Turn into a deadly gas blown through the air duct
Shes not in love but I thought that she was
She doesnt love me because I dont have the right haircut
I misunderstood I should fix under the hood
But I will not apologize for anything that Ive said
My name is Mr. Busdriver, this is the producer Paris
We are not embarrassed to admit that we will perish in a pit of our own imaginary place kids.. if you want to piss off your parents
show interest in the arts kids.. if you really want to piss off your parents
buy real estate in an imaginary place.. oh yes ok ok, alright, um, yeah..
now move!(erreh erreh aka scratchingness)

gotta do my shout outs now.. (peace to)

I’m just here to hold your hand when you die
Paris and Daddy Kev, they’ll also be there too

I’m just here to hold your hand when you die
Unless you get the (set of mums?!?!?) to her we’ll help you

I’m just here to hold your hand when you die
Feel the fellowship announced everyone will help you

I’m just here to hold your hand when you die
Shoulda been an empire hip hop clan too

I’m just here to hold your hand to die
I’m just here to hold your hand when you
Just here to hold your hand…
when you die…

One Response to Busdriver (Roadkill Overcoat lyrics)

  1. ashnaile says:

    you sir … are a god … i couldnt find these lyrics anywhere and kill floor flows were starting to frustrate me towatrds the second and third verses …

    and yes busdriver + the weather = goodness

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