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letra de unemployed black astronaut - busdriver

i am the first black astronaut
to walk the bare moon, from my air balloon
i am the first black astronaut
to walk the bare moon… (or possibly, one of the great all-time bus-drivers.)

it’s the resurgence of the happy black rappers
but our african medallions are handicap placards.
i am alphabetized in the “modernized retro”
and my press photos are wallet sized. my rent’s low.
why don’t you shape me? i’m malleable flesh and putty
and a salad bowl with? dressing
and -ssimilated into urban fuel testing
dress and doggy are coveted by a s-xy bunny
afraid i’ll add her to my burlesque show.
who’s slipping the ring finger of the lead singer? fresh bowl.
? b-tches rule with bee stingers but i’m refreshed though.
it’s home of the black speed rader.
perplexed or blurb stretched
dude adjusted? but the bird’s nest is low.
which means i’m commonplace.
til the boy and me traveled the country in wooden sp-ceships
on the phone cussing at deep-booking agents.
i wield words that have come from the country with the underground who’s-who
but i feel like i’ve been sodomized with a billiards pool cue.

i am the first black astronaut
to walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
pound my beliefs into the desired shape
and put them sound asleep in the fireplace.
i am the first black astronaut
to walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
pound my beliefs into the desired shape
and put them sound asleep in the fireplace.

it’s the return of the all popular adult rappers
who retreat to their holes in the sky, climbing up rope-ladders
and i will sell you a silver disc soaked in laughter,
cause you’ve been brainwashed. out of your ears leaks soap lather
why don’t you deify me? i’m buckaroo banzai.
don’t know what to do, i’m the wrong guy.
i touch crews like krush groove on dvd
and i kinda started doing songs with cve?
but now you’re like (chillin’ villain who? project what?)
persona non grata with the wrist-band in front of popsicle stick man.
he’s a wall of hot lava. drip crayons on your clipped glands.
so i found the top dollar. twist strands to enrich fans.
but there’s not a lotta offers. they give brands to kitsch bands.
i water lawns for the add d&d role-players
and we got along, so we formed a commonwealth
and you hear me through random sightings and file-sharing
and you tell me that song writing’s like child bearing
no it’s not, it’s self indulgence
elephant culprits watch their egos melt in charcoal pits.

oh my. sorry i left my acceptance speech in the back of the private car
and i re-wrote the hollywood ending, fluxed the motion-picture screen
made it so the black guy doesn’t die by the opening scene.
oh my. sorry i left my acceptance speech in the back of the private car
and i re-wrote the hollywood ending, fluxed the motion-picture screen
made it so the black guy doesn’t die by the opening scene.

yeah! this is the climate of cathartic writer
that enables who? in the market they lifer.
i’ve been out-sold and my styles are old and lame
i’ll spark a lighter to the carpet fiber ’cause i’m not a household name.

i’m a tax write-off, i signed a deal with no exit clause.
my label’s like ms. santa clause on menopause, so i’m banging on padded walls.
so i’m trying to make hits, but i keep hitting pop flies
i don’t eat out any more, i thaw chicken pot pies
but i used to be in the list of the top five
fresh hip-hop guys.

- busdriver

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