Busdriver - Sorry. f**ers lyrics

Sorry f**ers I'm at my tittie signing at the Barnes Nobles You brown-nose but your downloads only show marginal growth Why do you dress like a lesbian welder? Only a middle-aged woman looks s**y in elk fur You get injured at the hipster bar I hit you with a ninja star and then I speed off in my car My life is like a day-to-day p**n shoot You'll mayday for more troops when I say "Sorry f**ers" See that girl, she's a great lay with her scorched roots Plus she's got a grade-A horse caboose That's my lady! I just squeeze her cheeks While you sit and twitch like a Jesus freak You're from Hollywood; you get your sphincter bleached Sit your a** home and eat your quiche I'm the dude that your girl would be pleased to meet She'll want to s** me off with those beaver teeth But I decline the offer. I drive a flying saucer To perform on neighboring moons And do the giddy-up with some iffy s*ut Who's drinking pick-me-ups out of those Dixie cups To the young boozer, and the drug user But the syringe on the baking teaspoon That means play this it'll spike your blood sugar I'll have your soul mate tied to the sub woofer Sorry f**ers You squares f**ed up plus your haircut s**s Watch you girl upchuck Sorry f**ers We get their thumbs up Make 'em cry bleed, dry heave Sorry f**ers We'll extract the b**h in you Sorry f**ers And dictate what you listen to Give them face time with unloved lady's men Eschewing life through a dumb 80's trend With a litany of pop culture reference points My tenor voice will make the women all wet and moist You act gender bent While I'm wrestling with women in boxers with leopard print And yes, that's me arching a pouring gla** at the tee off Me getting the boarding pa** at the kiosk Me eating fish with French cream sauce Be celebrated at the confetti toss I'm waving from the Project Blowed parade float Completely nude under my raincoat While you're in your backpacker entrapments Battle rapping with a series of gay jokes You're welcomed to peep game But when they start riding the jock they seldom deplane A deceased co*k, a pudding geyser The hung dong's the swung baton of the womanizer But for my b**hes it's a springboard To a place where dreams are forged And I'll smack these geeky young twerps Out of their medium shirts