Busdriver - Ethereal Driftwood lyrics
[Busdriver - Ethereal Driftwood lyrics]
Y'all want to see tit's and ass
Street grit and sass
As beatniks smoking grass on holiday
(You know what we want)
You're looking for a grievance to mask
Preferably with a fetus in the trash
While you eat quiche and
Laugh on the Champs-Elysee
(You know what we want)
I'm not down with that B-list staff
As they yell out Jesus at mass
I'll be laughing while I knead this
Mish mash of pottery clay
(You know what we want)
An appropriated grease-slick slab
Posted up as a meat stick add
But, I make the average moviegoer
Too seasick and sad (You know what we want)
And I'm too caustic to run
For office or be expunged
For my agnostic plunge
(You know what we want)
So what I've accomplished and done
Is viewed as an off-setted pun
By the posh and young tastemakers
(You know what we want)
An overdone tame premise
I jump from the plane wreckage
Unscathed yet sunbathed in the rigors
Of a bass pluck (You know what we want)
Pop culture's lame vestiges
I'm an ordained pessimist
With hippie-qualms and sticky bombs
To deter the tank-truck
I'm good for (a belly laugh)
Covered in (a blanket of ash)
Leaving with (an ankle cast)
But sometimes I feel that
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
Broken TV sets as ethereal driftwood
When you're on the plane
Alive with water wings you'll think
'I didn't know surrendering felt this good'
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
They want semantics and sniveling
Grams to sniff on a triple-beam
To be hand-picked for a little scene
In a student film
All I have is pamphlets full of liberal zing
Antihistamines in a syringe-sling
A shanty for this fitted king
Of uprooted elm
And they've been given solar powered cars
Trail mix and power bars
Upturned tarot cards
They want to be heralded by wishful teens
In stretch-Hummers and limousines
They're beyond medicinal means
But, I gave them a protagonist
The color of cinnamon and mahogany
Filtered through award-winning cinematography
And the motherfucking discography of a G
If you don't like it then kick rocks
I'm pre-history's disc-jock
Yeah, I know what you wanted homie
But, I never had the shit in-stock
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
Broken TV sets as ethereal driftwood
When you're on the plane
Alive with water wings you'll think
'I didn't know surrendering felt this good'
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
Street grit and sass
As beatniks smoking grass on holiday
(You know what we want)
You're looking for a grievance to mask
Preferably with a fetus in the trash
While you eat quiche and
Laugh on the Champs-Elysee
(You know what we want)
I'm not down with that B-list staff
As they yell out Jesus at mass
I'll be laughing while I knead this
Mish mash of pottery clay
(You know what we want)
An appropriated grease-slick slab
Posted up as a meat stick add
But, I make the average moviegoer
Too seasick and sad (You know what we want)
And I'm too caustic to run
For office or be expunged
For my agnostic plunge
(You know what we want)
So what I've accomplished and done
Is viewed as an off-setted pun
By the posh and young tastemakers
(You know what we want)
An overdone tame premise
I jump from the plane wreckage
Unscathed yet sunbathed in the rigors
Of a bass pluck (You know what we want)
Pop culture's lame vestiges
I'm an ordained pessimist
With hippie-qualms and sticky bombs
To deter the tank-truck
I'm good for (a belly laugh)
Covered in (a blanket of ash)
Leaving with (an ankle cast)
But sometimes I feel that
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
Broken TV sets as ethereal driftwood
When you're on the plane
Alive with water wings you'll think
'I didn't know surrendering felt this good'
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
They want semantics and sniveling
Grams to sniff on a triple-beam
To be hand-picked for a little scene
In a student film
All I have is pamphlets full of liberal zing
Antihistamines in a syringe-sling
A shanty for this fitted king
Of uprooted elm
And they've been given solar powered cars
Trail mix and power bars
Upturned tarot cards
They want to be heralded by wishful teens
In stretch-Hummers and limousines
They're beyond medicinal means
But, I gave them a protagonist
The color of cinnamon and mahogany
Filtered through award-winning cinematography
And the motherfucking discography of a G
If you don't like it then kick rocks
I'm pre-history's disc-jock
Yeah, I know what you wanted homie
But, I never had the shit in-stock
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
Broken TV sets as ethereal driftwood
When you're on the plane
Alive with water wings you'll think
'I didn't know surrendering felt this good'
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings
I don't have what you want
So won't you accept my humble offerings