Cool Band Buzz-Busdriver/Ellay Khule

They want to hear good freestyling with sarcasm of Woody Allen Their parents own oil rigs They're just some spoiled kids who I must aim to please And so I'm dipped in a syrup vat And you know this town is a tourist trap Run by entertainment industries and the bureaucrats Selling the ultimate brain freeze This year I'm Sambo I'm on the Clear Channel I'm smiling and reading my parchment of prose I talk of the common man and of the promised land But I'm insincere and make the Marxists doze My head was a jar of lit bulbs I used to make viewers carsick at shows But now I'm easily the most compromising slut Oh, it's hard to keep this harlot clothed I network and do more than schmooze I start licking toes Underground rappers smell like garlic cloves But me, I'm smug and decadent Paid obscenely to appear at a set event Companies license my likeliness Money, it heightens my flighty fits I wrote the great American pop song stylized to my respective tiny Niche I wasn't invited to your shindig I've got no plus one and a low slush fund I never expected to ever win big I never expected for you to open my press kit The attendance is always subpar when I perform at a club or bar Why did I choose to do weird shit I steered my career off a cliff in a flaming stunt car So now I'm falling down a bottomless pit But I'm trying to be optimistic I spin microwaveable plates But the label prorates nothing My arms are to cotton pick with Look at the poignant portraits in my doodle sketch Meaning and art exude with every brush stroke But my promises of revolution are futile threats I'm so over sensitive my crotch is bloodsoaked I'll African dance and cast a voodoo hex while in your dorm spilling all The bong water And count the stars in the nebula until a goggleplex while selling you Sticks of nag champa I dumbfound in the coffee shop Looking like Jean-Michel Basquiat And kill gaudy pop with dirty laundry smell Acting all foolhardy Leaving kids oddly distraught Gentle laughter when I'm telling jokes at your dead pool party I am a necromancer of an exquisite corpse I'll cry ten minutes in your wet tennis court because I wasn't invited