Текст Busdriver – Handfuls Of Sky
Текст:
The water retention in the bogged down pickled ear
Outweighs the REM in one-eyed pistoleers
Oscillating lung sacs, cheek-pinching fun facts
Coloring the grosses in the fiscal year
Sucked up in the union turn my dues in with the monthly pledge
Breaking the Rosetta Stone, shouting on the megaphone
I turn a burning bush into a monkey hedge
They’re looking for a minion of idle hands to instruct
And I’m the battery-powered deflowered nimbus
Set aside my prized glum in gentrified fiefdom
I street perform in peak form with a tin cup
Please lift the sanctions that demonize the yellow cake
On your tongue the water-gun is pointed at your elbow brace
Baby safe the bumper cars, broadcast the color bars
As I tie you to the railroad stakes
When I overrule all of the nutritional facts
I can scale walls
Get your shit flushed when I bit-crush the Britannica
And unveil drawls
When I overrule all of the nutritional facts
I can scale walls
Get your shit flushed when I bit-crush the Britannica
And unveil drawls
They wanted a Moulin Rouge and some bullion cubes
But we jettisoned all that by the megaton
Now they’ve got their Oolong brews and their futon stools
And a reticent sun
So I’m turning on the waterworks
Cutting through the modern murk
To render handfuls of sky
Turning on the water works
Shunned where founding fathers lurk
Knee-deep in a pot of dirt
To render handfuls of sky
Cowering in firefights
Stepping over fly-by-nights
Contrary to prior plights
I render handfuls of sky
The mounting momentum of the bubbling electorate
Favors neo-Nazism in the house pet chorus
Throw the medicine ball, divvy up the windfall
Fit the trophy wife for the wet corset
I go from a hug to an open-handed cartwheel
That’s how I vivisect the dinner guest at the arms deal
Breathing with a suck slurp, I scrutinize the bloodwork
Of the green thinkers and no cars yield
Pointing out all the freckles on the darkroom negs
To carbon date a marketplace full of bootlegs
Bottle zygote nog, for all the roadhogs
Matching in, white, blue, red
You cannot triangulate the angles of this paragon
You are not a G at all, you work at a hair salon
When you raise the hot comb, I will move to Stockholm
Till the soil to put a parish on
When I do away with questionable motherfuckers
I can outsource sorcery
They wanted a Moulin Rouge and some bullion cubes
But we jettisoned all that by the megaton
Now they’ve got their Oolong brews and their MoveOn dot orgs
(Hey, go!)
(Hey, go!)
(Hey, go!)
So I’m turning on the waterworks
Cutting through the modern murk
Knee-deep in a pot of dirt
To render handfuls of sky
Turning on the water works
Shunned where founding fathers lurk
Knee-deep in a pot of dirt
To render handfuls of sky
Cowering in firefights
Stepping over fly-by-nights
Contrary to prior plights
I render handfuls of sky
