Busdriver - World Agape lyrics

Whoo! Art rap, art rap, art rap, art rap! Whoo! Who better qualified to mediate in the larp discord With my dewy moleskin brewing cauldron and karmic orb I'm fully pantsless like the wooly mammoth from the tar pit gorge Yet I'm David Carradine taking thorazine off the starship oars No godhead in the blog thread stringing this harpsichord No tasteful tunes, just tablespoons of parsnip porridge Of the bleeded ether from the Greenpeacer's alarmist lore (Chorus) I'm dashing and windblown When the world's agape And I bookend your smiles with unhappy endings I'm dashing and windblown When the world's agape Drop orange rind on the war crime set in the crowded ballot With my in-laws and Limbaugh singing a power ballad Their price gouging funds their night outings and flowered phallice More than spider bites we give them writer's strikes and an endowed outage The ulcer gargle and dulcimer drone are character-driven Like the "no sir" art show, sulfur marble and American women This bonus disk shows my showmanship and parenting acumen (Chorus) I'm dashing and windblown When the world's agape And I bookend your smiles with unhappy endings I'm dashing and windblown When the world's agape Oh what to do Oh what to do when the world we service is a whirling dervish And my sidekick aids his surly cervix he's burly and girlish And I'm Isaac Hayes on a gurney in Zurich saying "Man up puss! Right now!" We're telling kids "Oh yes, you can't" I'm rushed to hair and make-up on the war-torn beachfront Where I narrate stuff like a foreign-born creampuff But I forewarn the teen pups that their core's worn and pre-shrunk Then in poor form, I triple lutz and I land on my gristle hump But really I'm into spooning and spoonerisms And I make a splash like my hands are two-thirds fish fin Because when I talk it's like nuclear fission yet it resonates Like a Ferris Bueller ditch party Apply the oil-slick sheen of the Blue Man Group Eat Soylent Green by the two-hand scoop When you see my face at the newsstand booth With plutonium in his thermos I got Obi-Wan discharged With my phony gun and lip service I earned the large gift card To stir up the stern cla** kings and nurture the saplings I earn medals dirt-pedal with the facial hair of Burt Reynolds Burnt kettles on my turntables Make sheet music leak coolant When I speak to it