Lyrics Somethingness - Busdriver, Radioinactive, Rhetoric

Somethingness

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