Garfunkel And Oates - Handjob, Blandjob, I Don't Understand Job lyrics

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 cla** but a total late bloomer Now I got a secret to get off my chest Went from kissing to s** 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 Hitchco*k 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?