Busdriver - Note Boom lyrics

I was in a Hip Hop hair band, when I was watching 'Yo, MTV Raps' Then I went to this CV shack... and I burned my unpublished books And invented my young rugged looks, wrote a verse holding your CD rack When I became a star, now girls show me their bikini wax And shower me in vaginal secretions for no rational reason Whatever happened to the undying purist's fuel? the young wistful rants? The rap quiz bowl champ? now I go to afterparties where girls have Good snatch and nipple clamps I'm supposed to be protesting at a missile plant I'm supposed to be casting an unpopular vote Instead of basking in a sauna, in the water in a swim trunk There's a skin chunk on my salad fork There's an inconsistancy in my valid retort You can dig in an underground t-shirt bin, but you're just On the outside looking in So I poured formaldehyde under your cooking skin Because I'm from L.A., which means I'm a style snob I can't imagine that there's any rapper who can put me out of a job Because while they were reading 'Calvin and Hobbes' We filled [? ] With lyrics and loops But I'm not from your favorite group, put up your cypher circle's sacred hoop Because I'm a hoola-hooper, bazooka-shooter, new recruiter Of a daisy-dukes-wearing lone groupie Astroglide and [? ] play a big part in my home movies Because I'm a scene s*ut, you facetious f**s, if y'all don't make Some noise I'll be applying for employment at Pizza Hut Let's be level-headed, you can probably see through me I'm the white man's character's n******g friend in the ethnocentric teen movie Well? shut your mouth? just pay him for the green smoothie Hold on- I'm still important. I was the clumsy co-author Of your celebrated mantra for your movement Then my felt pen turned into a cold spoon, and I want my love back So I await a note boom Want to see my live performance? No! How about a [? ] verse? No! Want an unedited television appearance? No! Want to hear some exclusive tracks? No! Damn, tough crowd. I thought they would always Touch clouds when I bust styles, but what now? What kind of name is Busdriver? Is it just a wack allegory? And it can't be justified by any background story? I heard he s**s live. only appeals to hipsters who Dress like Russian spies, who are painfully cool and have bu*ton-eyes A fan will squeeze a pint of fresh juice, and it'll discompose a recluse But no childhood s** abuse can explain my terrible habits That is why single is my marital status That is why I'll happily take cash advances from charitable half-wits And being that I'm from the Project Blowed I'm constantly probed By the weak and the dull With poor and boring things asked, I'll put a breech in the hole Of their exploratory space craft with oratory weight ma**, bleach for skulls Because recent polls... a black rapper's viewed as a voyeuristic dunce Who doesn't care about the B-Boyer's intrinsic hunch And now indie music is instant lunch, at industry parties I piss in the punch And won't take a business card, I have a disregard for life I'm not on a mission to Mars or leave satellite-dish shards in the night Hold on- I'm still important. I was the clumsy co-author Of your celebrated mantra for your movement Then my felt pen turned into a cold spoon, and I want my love back So I await a note boom Want to see my live performance? No! How about a [? ] verse? No! Want an unedited television appearance? No! Want to hear some exclusive tracks? No! Damn, tough crowd. I thought they would always Touch clouds when I bust styles, but what now? I thought they would always go buck wild, but now They want a n***a with a plucked brow Wow... tough crowd... the room is f**ing loud