Here's to Us - Busdriver

Yeah yeah a-yeah a-yeah

Hey, let me talk to these people

Ey, I got the 20-something rap guy anthem right here in my hands y’all check it

out

It’s for you young buck, or old buck, or middle-aged buck

Whatever

You got a face like an imperiled vagina

You’re from a Carolina

Yet you spell your name with an umlaut and parentheses

You embody foot-in-mouth disease

So it’s right that you write a book about MCs

It’s like, cheers

Here’s To Us

And all the nothing that we promised to do

Here’s To Us

Who else is gonna be the son is with you

It’s clear enough

We’re near the cusp

Of a long-encompassing

Stroke of genius

I need you to leave

Peeves

We’ve had enough of your shit well should we help you?

Cuz I spit butane uh

Is it inhumane if I uh

Just get a few things

Yeah

I’m in stores with engorged grocery lists

I ain’t buying I’m scratching off my homies' shit

A weeknight’s a rewrite of Moby Dick

I sleep tight and dreaming hearing pre-flight safety tips

My room smells of steamed rice and baby shit

Cuz I’m consumed with what gets played through the cross fader

How ya mean I’m Lebron James of the Bronze Age

Renaissance nigga so I never learned to ball play

I missed a job in the views of movie sets

The vaporized weed with a jacuzzi jet

Cuz now I won’t be the spokes man and for booty sweat

And break character for school I’m an anti-socialite

On karaoke night I request Deep Purple

It makes my sacra complete though it’s a semi-circle

But the dance floor’s a class war dress rehearsal

I won’t stand for it

I’m sipping Merlot in the first row like, cheers

Oh!

My personal unemployment rate is cringeworthy

And my party don’t stop until about a six a thirty

In the morning I break it in the afternoons with my dick dirty

Knowing I’ll be dead and famous before I hit thirty

But if I studied I could have been a neurosurgeon

Instead me and my band are busy circle jerking

Squeezing out a stroke of genius for rights to our intellectual properties are

gonna need more subpoenas

They’re like

You should make a mixtape

You should make a sextape

For all the hater and bottlers that slept late

I’ll write a screenplay

Yeah, that’ll be the day

The musings of Tina Fey become a personal BofA

Oops

When I say cheesy shit the CD skips

My MP3s are 10cc's of pretense

So sing my praises with your teeth clenched

On smart phones that speak French

My songs are going for three pence

Sucker!

But you said you killed over a song

Now you write tunes that you need a vocoder on

I’m trying to retire to Boca Raton

And escape the business end of the popo’s baton

And like, cheers

This one’s for us

Not you

Even though we know you well

At least we did in the 90s

We don’t like you anymore

Yeah