Lyrics Handjob, Blandjob, I Don't Understand Job - Garfunkel and Oates

Handjob, Blandjob, I Don't Understand Job

I got a problem and I can’t contain it
I’ll use my icky sticky rhymes to help explain it
Handy Js are like Stonehenge to me
Robert Stack can’t even help me unsolve this mystery
I’m the messed up child of a baby boomer
I was in the gifted class but a total late bloomer
Now I got a secret to get off my chest
Went from kissing to sex but never learned the rest
In high school, I was in the marching band
Not learning what to do with my hand
While other girls were dripping like a Jackson Pollock
I blossomed later than Mayim Bialik
I’m investigating bones like Deschanel
Trying to make it stand up like Dave Chapelle
When I stare down the barrel of a semi-hard dick
I feel more singled out than Chris Hardwick
I studied Bach, Jacques Chirac, and Isaac Asimov
But I wasn’t on the ski bus jerking people off
Wouldn’t let you touch my chest like you’re Vapo rubbing Vicks in
Let alone deep throat your Tricky Dick Nixon
I wanna learn how to make your Watergates flow
I’m resigned like Spiro Agnew that I might never know
How to HJ your LB Johnson
Know less about dicks than Samantha Ronson
I should have explored New Frontiers like Wil Wheaton
But I was more conservative than Alex P. Keaton
I’ve fallen into crisis just like the Dow
I wanna give a handjob but I don’t know how
Hand job, Bland job
I-Don't-Understand job
Do I spit, do I squeeze, do I ever touch the top?
How can I learn when you always make me stop?
Now I’m on a full-blown investigation
To unlock the secrets of ejaculation
I need a translator like I’m reading Balzac
To crack the Rosetta Stone over your ball sack
The top is the part that confuses me the most
It looks like a Silly Putty Pac-Man ghost
Sometimes it’s jello jiggling, sometimes it’s denser
But they all look like a Darth Vader Pez dispenser
Like Sam Jackson, I’m not as good with Shaft
When it’s soft and flabby like President Taft
It’s like a deep south queen that you wanna make straight
Will I make it upright if I move it like a Shake Weight?
Move it like a Shake Weight
Move it like a Shake Weight
I’m pumping like brakes that aren’t anti-lock
Trying not to go psycho on your Alfred Hitchcock
I go a little faster and then I retard
It’s like a hamster that you don’t wanna squeeze too hard
I’m working my hand 'til it gets arthritis
I’ll be holdin' 'til I get the Golden Touch of Midas
«I think, therefore I am"getting my Descartes on
'Til I fully comprehend your Marcia Gay Hard-on
But the biggest, throbbing question of all’s
Seriously, what do you do with the balls?
Do I roll 'em like dice, do I mold them like clay
Do I tickle them like Elmo, or throw 'em like a partay?
Do I move 'em all around or cup it slow?
They’re the two bald critic puppets from the Muppet show
Just sitting there cranky and superfluous
How 'bout I don’t touch them unless you insist?
Hand job, Bland job
I-Don't-Understand job
Do I spit, do I squeeze, do I ever touch the top?
How can I learn when you always make me stop?
How can I learn when you always make me stop?