Lyrics Oh, Ouch. - P.O.S, Busdriver

Oh, Ouch.

Bashed up for the blast of it
Dead last for the pass I get
Had the back with the calloused kids
With the knack for the raddest shit
An entirely different one percent
Piled on ‘tip it’s all gone
No, all filthy at you
Off the charts
Off the wall
The charts nailed onto
Under there where I roam
(Under where?)
Cuz they underdeveloped and overgrown
It’s over and out
Without doubt and it dropped
You can find me in your home
Give me the food, give me the fool
Make a meal of your crew
Make a mess of your conquest
Blessed with civility
Dressed for the coup
I got my mind on my tummy
And I’m fine looking grind on
And what exactly do you do?
I got my mind on my
And I’m fine looking grind on
(I've got my head on
Head on straight)
Yeah
Hug-hips, a Smucker’s jelly
Cut wrists or what you tell me
I jump cliffs for one glimpse
Of your unkissed underbelly
My face are records for sale
My city, a Mexican jail
Implicit photosythetic cells
So, nigga, I am losing it
I bathed in the back of a cumulus cloud
Raised in the cracks of the music ain’t crowd
While nature with inflamed a pituitary gland
Please don’t get me confused with any band
I’m a motherfucking cartoon character
With a macabre bend
Holding two Americas
Some odds and ends
And want to shoot cameras
Where ladies strip for a wad of tens
I like you
With your sly grin, you’re a siren
None like you
You’re a dream girl times ten
You make light bend
You’ve got a nigga feeling sedated
Like a pain patient
Your apartment’s like a space station
And we’ve got similar tastes in music
You like wheezy and Jeezy and Neezy
And Sleepy and Dopey
And maybe I need you to please
Be my little snow pea
Because I’m out here stalking you
Looking creepy with a sleazy goatee
My love for you is a god
And we both know gods barf guns
And force-feed belief
Like a squad car of nuns