Busdriver - Unemployed Black Astronaut lyrics

rate me

It's the resurgence of the happy black rappers

But now African medallions are handicap placards

And we're alphabetized in the modernized retro

And my press photos are wallet-size

My rent's low

Why don't you shape me

I'm malleable fleshy putty

In a salad bowl with dill dressing

In simulated urban field testing

Dressing thuggy

Accompanied by a sexy bunny

Straight out of a burlesque show

She'll sever the ring finger of the lead singer

And stir a fresh bowl

Of the bitch's brew with bee stingers

But Leimert's fresh though

It's home of the black speed-reader

Perplexed our blurbs stretch

To suggest that I'm spacy

But the bird nest is low

Which means I'm commonplace

To the point we travel the country in wooden spaceships

On the phone cursing at the booking agents

I wield words and I pilfer the country with the underground's who's who

But I feel like I've been sodomized with a billiard's pool cue

I am the first black astronaut

To walk the bare moon

From my air balloon

Pound my beliefs into the desired shape

Then put them sound asleep in a fireplace

It's the return of the unpopular dope rappers

Who retreat to holes in the sky

Climbing up rope ladders

And will sell you a silver disc soaked in laughter

Because you've been brainwashed

Out of your ears leaks soap lather

Why don't you deify me

I'm Buckaroo Bonsai

I don't know what to do

I'm the wrong guy

I touch crews like Krush Groove on DVD

And I got my start doing songs with CVE

But now you're like:

Chilling Villain who? Project what?

Persona non grata

No wristband for the popsicle stick man

He's a wad of hot lava

Drip crayon on your clipped glands

Won't squander top dollar

Twists strands to enrich fans

But there's not a lot of offers

They give grands to kitsch bands

I water lawns

For the ADD D&D role players

And we got along

So we formed a commonwealth

And you hear me through random sightings and file sharing

And you tell me that songwriting's like childbearing

No it's not

It's self-indulgence

Elfin culprits watch their egos melt in charcoal pits

Oh my

Sorry I left my acceptance speech

In the back of the private car

And I rewrote the Hollywood ending

Fluxed the motion picture screen

Made it so the black guy doesn't die by the opening scene

It's the decline of the cathartic writer

And the label's who couldn't market a Lifer

I've been outsold and my style's old and lame

I'll spark a lighter to the carpet fiber

Because I'm not a household name

I'm a tax write-off

I signed a deal with no exit clause

My label's like Mrs. Santa Claus during menopause

So I'm banging on padded walls

Because I'm trying to make hits

But I keep hitting pop flies

I don't eat out anymore

I thaw out chicken pot pies

But I used to be on the list of the top five

Fresh hip-hop guys