Leftfielder - Buck 65

Leftfielder, living in a suitcase

Comfortable shoes, photo album and toothpaste

Road atlas, learning my way around

Kissing the pavement, lucky cause I may have drowned

Hotel notepad, three pens for five dollars

Black, red and blue, recommended by scholars

On foot, talking loud and telling fortunes

Steadily building up an empire and selling portions

Spinning plates, disappearing, walking the high wire

Sawing a woman in half, on trial by fire

Call me country, I’m dry as a bone

Perhaps I would die if I was alone

I pray to Saint Christopher and shout at the devil

I made a million promises and have broken several

Man of the moment, trying to get some more

And you never heard it like this before

Fly fisherman, don’t know, don’t care

Straight out of the muddle of butt fudge nowhere

Champion of breakfast, reverse kleptomaniac

Rainy day wallflower, what did you expect

Pickled beats everywhere, daily pollution

Everyone’s looking for a saline solution

Give me a lawnmower, something made of wood

Beat up contraptions that smoke when they heat up

Pygmalion, big city grease monkey

Maybe the most honest, probably the least funky

Raccoon with rabies, backstage hermit crab

Give me your Zippidily Do Da and I will turn it sad

Permanent scar on a smooth face of mediocrity

Just leave it up to me to rock it awkwardly

Tin can evangelist, trying to make some more

And you never heard it like this before