Party Pooper - Busdriver

Yes sir, Project Blowed

What are you?

Huh, I’ll have blood oozing out the doll in paint

Leave the club fuming and you’ll file a complaint

When the next emcees of human style is a faint weapon

For me to hinder the growth

Is my civil duty

I’d rather you find your inner beauty than wiggle your booty

'Cuz there’s mercenaries in all the blind spots

That could get my person buried in a pine box

Is it because my first person carries on all the time slots

Or 'cuz I won’t treat a Virgin Mary like livestock?

I want a B-girl who praises Islam or Rastafari

Doesn’t hang out with misogynist bar flies

Not an androgynous tomboy, or a lecturous lush

With an affectionate bust, who has a fetish to fuck

She’ll give you genital warts full of infected pus

What’d you expect from Bus?

Of course I’m a party pooper

Your girl brings me Kama Sutra while I’m squeezing barley from her juicer

I’m a party pooper, but you just want to squeeze on barbies' hooters

And try to please the Manarky’s ruler

But the way I serve these emcees is harly a rumor

You see, I’m a party pooper

Come on, I’m a party pooper

«Yeah man, we gotta get in this club tonight, get my drank on

Fuck wit dem hoes, be on some hot shit»

Now what is hot shit?

A warm stool from the butt horn of a mule

Or a globe that conforms to the rules?

So I take these fools to reform school

Or go ahead and buy a new pair of pants, we’ll do the square dance

You folks aren’t given a fair chance to give the underground a glare or glance

But I’m certain that a rare chance will earn us shares and grants

Like I’m certain that you’re handicapped and can’t hacky sack

Like I’m certain that your crappy raps won’t get no handclaps

I’m sure!

Like a breakout of anthrax

Make you take out your tampax, stand back!

That’s the way that the biters go

The more decimals on the check, the more special effects

But it’s an inevitable letdown

Leave styles to make you feel like a vegetable from the neck down

These drum kicks, sound like several tech rounds being fired

Shooting in the canopy to stop the hootenanny

«Okay people, exit the club, there’s nothing to see here»

See, they bite chunks of info when cypher punks go home driving drunk

For god’s sake, snap out of it!

You dumb yuppies, Humpty Dumpties and young guppies

Your pop song’s a satire of itself

Your war machine backfires and melts

He thought I was just a hired help but

I said Project Blowed

We are party poopers

I say Afterlife

We are party poopers

Yeah, Busdriver

You know he’s a party pooper

I said Jizzm

You know he’s a party pooper

I said Mexican Descent

They’re party poopers

I said Hip Hop Klan

Party poopers

I said Chillin Villain Empire

Party poopers

I said Cypher 7

Party poopers

I said Onomotopoeia

Party poopers

Everybody in the Blowed

Party poopers

Everybody outside

Party poopers

All of the security

They party poopers

Everybody that you know

Party poopers

Yeah, your uncle and your aunt

Party poopers

All these whack emcees

They should be party poopers

Wouldn’t it be better if we were all party poopers?