Somethingness - Busdriver, Radioinactive, Rhetoric

All I wanted was insurance and a dental plan

But ladies and gentlemen

All they do is grow daisies at a mental can

Get a job!

Easy for you to say, you’re a member in some rap group, but at least I stood

for something

I’m a baby in a trash hoop who’s good for nothing

Now, upon buying this album you’ve done three things:

Proven that you’re a hippie counterculture sun chaser

And proven that you’re unaware of your contribution to my fundraiser

For me to rule the world, and you want to join the club?

To get a renewal, you need a referral from a previous employer

But we know you’re a schoolgirl who needs a devious lawyer

To prove otherwise in a court of law.

Get this nigga a sport’s bra!

But that’s besides the point

You’ve also proven that mundane tasks to you are like slave labor

So you don’t do nothing

If you were in grave danger

Your problem wouldn’t prove sudden

And went inside to wake up early you at the alarm clock and the snooze button in

If you were stranded on a deserted island you would probably farm crops and

stew food hunted

You inspected all the fun and you laugh, thinking if things go according to plan

In the song, you’ll be subordinate in a tanning salon

Wearing a white shirt, with cold air freezing

Drinking soft drinks, yet dying of thirst, but for no apparent reason

Well, what are your plans today?

Well, I’m certainly not gonna do any of the

house chores

But I think I’m gonna dabble and do up my dissertation that I’m gonna present

to Al Gore

With an unpresentable mouth sore

About 'nothingness'

There’s nothing

Nothing that’s better for enhancing the chance of being empty

And it’ll hold a certain mystic freedom

And freedom is in a hole that people fall and die in

Record full of nothing but a bebop, an amoeba auction, a hummus falafel

A dick in the H in the Haitian abated

Graffiti verbatim preventative medicine

Preventing hip nethers I get up in her venery heaven

Adam and Eve are having a meeting with a cat so… so

Soulful with a bowl-full of no, no, no

Nothing… ever happens, here’s a leather napkin

Riding on a killer wildebeest in the wilderness

Of the Middle East and back to Italy

To set this scene of nativity in the hills of Mississippi

With a dollar-fifty and a bottle of whiskey and a woman to bake me some

biscuits and a little piece

Of Feliz Navidad, you never had a dad

So Tenenbaum or MacDonald after Ramadan

Fast enough to catch me placing those splashes, vagabond

Don’t be laughing, you David Hasselhoff in a castle box

Castlevania building pencils in Pennsylvania with the stencil stain you’ll love

End of the verse, so hand me your purse

I’m the one that you will see at the Italian Hill near you

See, I like at the opera where a life is a death, and I see that… the death is

near

(And on a basketball court backboard is the head of a deer)

There’s something I wanna tell ya

It’s been eating me from inside out

Let’s make it a point to get together sometime soon

And we’ll talk

Come close enough so I can whisper

I’ve been meaning to tell you that

Oh shit I forgot what I was gonna say

Never mind

Hear my tummy moan!

´Cause I spit up all my vom, but you know I gotta get a muddy gnome from puppy

cones

Before they know these songs are full of absolute nothingness

And contrary to popular belief, our lucrative rate is in grass root cuttingness

From CD duplicates burning I don’t hatch bad news and a money clip

But I have a tumor, as seen of a baby’s mother tit on the mammogram

A dozen mother ships plan to land, so I could melt the demand with heat-ray gun

Instead of going to midnight mass with DJ Run

Or rich white trash sedatives house a plum substance

In a pipe that announce me and cancer as husband

And wife, but I think I’m gonna get a second opinion

(our blood analysis finds there’s nothing wrong!) so I’ll get a third opinion

(there's nothing wrong with you)!

It’s just that my words are swimming again

I’m drowning in my swim trunks doing cover songs with Alvin and the Chipmunks

Holding a thousand pistol grip pumps sounding «get crunk!»

At your grandmother’s house doing nothing

«Go back to Compton, you dirty nigga, we don’t sell watermelons here»

Is what I yell at the white folks on the way to gun show once a year

Nigga, some of my best friends are white, and I love mud sharks just the same

Except for the ones that come from Africa and got 'Johnson' for a last name

Darth Vader, Rhetoric, Earl Jones James, by the way

What’s another name for shit-colored in German?

Take a guess

Melanin, you illiterate knuckle-dragging ethnic thief two-fifths of a person

Civil servant, welfare undeserving, never own a suburban

Home, I hope they raise the rent so high

The crack money you make couldn’t buy you better property curbside

In the game of monopoly you would advance to Run (not Boardwalk)

You hide as her pitch-white map cause your corn-fed pig wife gave you

penis-envy over the pony in the barn

Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

Bestiality porn (don't watch it)

Defecation porn (don't watch it).

Shit-face drunk from cow-tipping last night

Your version of crackery is reminiscing on an umbilical cord before you had to

pay for the rock and hit the glass pipe

Yeah, let’s talk about civil rights.

A 'spic straight from the chop-shop put

together wrong'

If ever there was a Mexican Transformer he would be a lowrider named

'Wetbacktron'

Con artists hit the stopwatch and let’s play a barbed wire game

Of turntable hopscotch in the form of a swastika

There’s something I wanna tell ya

It’s been eating me from inside out

Let’s make it a point to get together sometime soon

And we’ll talk

Come close enough so I can whisper

I’ve been meaning to tell you that

Oh shit I forgot what I was gonna say

Never mind

(Busdriver)

All I wanted was insurance and a dental plan

But ladies and gentlemen

All they do is grow daisies at a mental can

Get a job!

Easy for you to say, you’re a member in some rap group, but at least I stood

for something

I’m a baby in a trash hoop who’s good for nothing