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letra de ego death - busdriver

ft. aesop rock, danny brown

yeah, i understand what you’re saying, but is it s-xier than torture?

we can make this better
we can make this better
we can make this better

under the sun i laid, defied the night
i slip miniature mantras between my cries and gripes
jewel-flavored crystals in the red, blue, and white stripes
while cr-ps numbers at me like the price is right
and downtime is never met with an overjoyed grin
’cause sleep and death have always been conjoined twins
you’d rather lick the ‘of pop art
a’ cement field, a pac march
the withering tendrils from my wrought heart
reach for a benadryl like it was a lost ark
’cause my average day is for the body features and’ seizures
we cry to these seniors, living a side of splotchy adidas
serving consecutive sentences
my corrective lenses is ruby quartz
you’re my b-tch and ain’t worth a jiggling of booty warts
circ-mstances trap writers like high debates
underneath a colorized happy face
or a carbon copy done in candy paint
or so the nanny say if it’s a diaper rash
i’m pinging this on a cyber-cast
questioning news items, playing patty cake with an hourgl-ss
the fact that this ponny show’s racist
thirsty colloquial cake mix charges the homeostasis
of all the homies who await us like we’re some smokin’ joe fraziers
but my unchecked whining’s like some ceremonial plate shift

we can make this better, or not, yes, we will
we’re just looking for something inside us to kill
we can make this better, or not, yes, we will
we’re just looking for something inside us to kill
we can make this better, or not, yes, we will
we’re just looking for something inside us to kill
we can make this better

before long, oil the bombs
a little celery chop
a little pepper, a little milk and a poppy
little posse in effect
-n-log mono-poly man of war
walloping the auto-poly avatar
mind on his mallomars
money on the iron lung
clumsy with the can of worms
usher you behind the sun
he shoots the wh-r-s, truly stupid troubadours and elders
stock the shelter with three holdies and blueberry new york seltzers
roll up in a’ like a doofus
hit the corner like the devil is incubus
i’m ruthless, deciduous dog with a cone feeling foolish
seven h-lls calling all foreseeable futures
be an obtained culprit
crippling migraine and strange stomach
or a stray bullet through his gray mullet
i am ivy up the godd-mn ladders
march to the math rock
raw, no cartoon mascot
the mario pajama, bottoms clumsily rappelling
under a gibbous moon
hunting for sh-tty food
gunning, too tough, embedded in bad magic
duckboy, sh-t is quacktastic

i’m not done yet
i’m not done yet
i’m not done yet
i’m not done yet

we can make this better, or not, yes, we will
we’re just looking for something inside us to kill

rap marilyn manson, about as hot as a ransom
with two hoodies on the beach with two b-tches crump dancing
rappers quit your advancing, last man standing
bars h-t so hard your record straight off the planet
the motherf-cking hybrid, tell miley cyrus’
when i holler to her private i’m tryna get them privates
parts don’t sort, take it hard like kano
remember when i told to drink all the dran-o
pop all the pills, take all the lines
chop through the weather with some saw blade blime
back on that sh-t, guess what this time?
half a stick of dynamite where the sun don’t shine
any n-gg- disrespecting, chin check ’em till he’s slinky-neck
blowing dope, high as’
countdown to extinction, no, not gonna make it there
so many dead rappers, can’t even take baby steps
walking over carc-sses of artists in my garden
been nice with this sh-t since nas was writing past the margin
any n-gg- wanna start it, i f-cking beg your pardon
i’m with arson, i’m the firestarter, prodigy, bet the armor
smack my b-tch up in the mouth with my d-ck
and it’s not domestic violence ’cause she likes that sh-t
there’s no sentence to describe it, homie
except she sucked it like her f-cking life depended on it

- busdriver

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