Cool Band Buzz - Busdriver

They want to hear good freestyling with sarcasm of Woody Allen

Their parents own oil rigs

They’re just some spoiled kids who I must aim to please

And so I’m dipped in a syrup vat

And you know this town is a tourist trap

Run by entertainment industries and the bureaucrats

Selling the ultimate brain freeze

This year I’m Sambo

I’m on the Clear Channel

I’m smiling and reading my parchment of prose

I talk of the common man and of the promised land

But I’m insincere and make the Marxists doze

My head was a jar of lit bulbs

I used to make viewers carsick at shows

But now I’m easily the most compromising slut

Oh, it’s hard to keep this harlot clothed

I network and do more than schmooze

I start licking toes

Underground rappers smell like garlic cloves

But me, I’m smug and decadent

Paid obscenely to appear at a set event

Companies license my likeliness

Money, it heightens my flighty fits

I wrote the great American pop song stylized to my respective tiny niche

I wasn’t invited to your shindig

I’ve got no plus one and a low slush fund

I never expected to ever win big

I never expected for you to open my press kit

The attendance is always subpar when I perform at a club or bar

Why did I choose to do weird shit

I steered my career off a cliff in a flaming stunt car

So now I’m falling down a bottomless pit

But I’m trying to be optimistic

I spin microwaveable plates

But the label prorates nothing

My arms are to cotton pick with

Look at the poignant portraits in my doodle sketch

Meaning and art exude with every brush stroke

But my promises of revolution are futile threats

I’m so over sensitive my crotch is bloodsoaked

I’ll African dance and cast a voodoo hex while in your dorm spilling all the

bong water

And count the stars in the nebula until a googolplex while selling you sticks

of nag champa

I dumbfound in the coffee shop

Looking like Jean-Michel Basquiat

And kill gaudy pop with dirty laundry smell

Acting all foolhardy

Leaving kids oddly distraught

Gentle laughter when I’m telling jokes at your dead pool party

I am a necromancer of an exquisite corpse

I’ll cry ten minutes in your wet tennis court because I wasn’t invited

I wasn’t invited to your shindig

I’ve got no plus one and a low slush fund

I never expected to ever win big

I never expected for you to open my press kit

They gave all the super fans with notable Computer tans

Secret decoder rings have replace the older scene with cooler bands