Busdriver - Jhelli Beam Fishy Face feat. John Dieterich

Lyrics

My love jet was supposed to be fuel-efficient
But everybody knows that is just some boobish misprint
On the brochure oh sure, such hubris is fit
To procure your pure, yeah
Prudish princess
Like when I put my reproductive glands in a plaster cast
Thinking that my Woodie Wood Pecker would always flabbergast
But my trouser snake is more like a pamper asp
And I never had the cantor to ask, “Am I really all that?”
Way before I ever got to pinch the folds
Of the hottest chicks comic strips were like ninja scrolls
And my heart was an iridescent listless cove
Echoing the rhetoric of pimping hoes
From the homies sipping on that Michelob
Fuck them niggas they can all just lick my chode
Because I speak in amorous whispers that wisp her lobe
I said I speak in amorous whispers that wisp her lobe
But in order for a lady to ever admit my bulge
I need an entry fee or an encryption code
Should I start cooking crack on the kitchen stove?
Act like Superfly stupefied wearing an Egyptian robe
Or just join a swing band get a wingman
Maybe I could pull girls with the old pick and roll
I need a beauty queen from movie screens to kiss this toad
Not my goofy schemes resulting in me getting a fist to the nose

Hey, I make that fishy face that kissy face
When I’m throwing what if’s at your puffed lips
Hey, I make that fishy face that kissy face
When my sky’s beneath your shoes

Don’t go, no
Die slowly
Cuz we don’t get along no more

And so I figured I could draft a piece of fiction
While you are waiting for food at the pizza kitchen
Just romanticize the idea of being grief-stricken
Grumpy and bummy and all flea-bitten
And now your sexdrive’s been revved up within each piston
I found the perfect way for a nigga to meet chickens
I’m now the persnickety palindrome piecer
Her fidgety xylophone zeeker
Suffering a used car, FUBAR with my teeth missing
And now I bone a range of after party harlots
Kicking this old game like an Atari cartridge
Just from freelancing with the socialist tribune I get pune
And give dick to who wants the goo gob
And diss Lou Dobbs and Brit Hume like

Smooches, kisses, smooches, kisses, smooches, kisses…

Hey, I make that fishy face that kissy face
When I’m throwing what if’s at your puffed lips
Hey, I make that fishy face that kissy face
When my sky’s beneath your shoes

Come on now no one thinks that real niggas love rapping nerdy
Or go to art exhibits at museums and view taxidermy
So go date a slew of tax attorneys
Who have logistically mapped their 30’s
But I put them fools on padded gurneys
I used to hit it when your ass was fat and perky
But now you look like a Susan Sarandon doll
And I’m as volatile as a human cannon ball
And still rap like it’s commentary for a horse race
With the political impetus of John Kerry’s court case
For a vote recount, I got OG clout
I tell hoes peace out when they become bitter Strawberry Shortcakes
I move on sleep on a futon arbitrarily in a storage space
From now on I solemnly make the pledge
To move her in just cuz she’s great in bed
I grate hearts on a serrated edge and break a year lease
While screaming in your ear piece…