Busdriver - Happiness (’s Unit Of Measurement) lyrics
[Busdriver - Happiness ’s Unit Of Measurement lyrics]
You burst on the scene already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
Yeah I told this one guy that my record's
Name is Fear of a Black Tangent (Well you)
And he was kind of offended and he was like
"What like I can't be down cause
I'm not a black guy?"
I was like no, it's not
Really like that, it's just, it's just
(Hey, hit the switch) The DJ plays the
Fine dish and adjusts the high-pitch level
Why
(Hint to miss) Hand your girl the wine list
She smells of hibiscus pedals
(Whiff the grit) I show up
With my rhyme clique
Not in designer fit dress codes
(Get a wince) And they
Think we're timeless and
Starting singing along to our
Pirated down loads
(Admit the shit) I've never
Really been that social
Most the times I'm disheveled
(Is this it?) Since it's Fear
Of a Black Tangent
Do I got to call white kids devils?
(Oh, is it the pit's?) Or do I got to
Say nature's ovaries are bleeding
At a poetry reading?
(The kids are pissed) Because
The thoughts of an
Underground rap guy don't really go that way
(The kids are pissed) I think the mainstream
Vs independent argument is so passé
(Pick my disc) Thanks to my
10 stack-high cd duper
I'm an uneasy sleeper
(Get this) But a pacified TV viewer
Read about me in a weekly reader
(Fix the myth) And he said I'm a
Hip-Hop treaty breacher with my vivid tales
I spend less time alienating my audience then
I do trying to solicit sales
(So lick the dick) Because the scene
Is more than bitches, brew
And stinky reefer
(It's a trip) All the pee-wee leaguers
Kiss rings on our pinky fingers
(We spit the hit's) But why? I am
Meaningless product on a crowded shelf
A shout for help
I simmer in my dilapidated glee
Oh, get an account with
A popular Hip-Hop crew
Pay the activation fee
And buy a shirt, a hat, a pair of underwear
Cuz that's your favorite emcee
And I'm a spacey shoegazer
Who stares at Pluto
But I'll be a jiggy jigaboo
Who goes through laser hair removal
If it means that
I can pay my rent and other bills
You burst on the scene already a legend
(yeah) the unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
(I flew out to a show and nobody showed
Up, man, it was really like discouraging
But you know what I think?)
You strayed into my arms
I've got a point system
That determines my happiness
Its unit of measurement is your
Interest in my crappy shit
Because I'm not dope, I'm not fresh
Ideas are overshot and undersung
What a dumb verse that is
I'm definitely not number one
A verse drowning deep within my flooded lung
My song dying deep in a pit
Of my blood and cum
The kids don't want to listen
They just want to have some fucking fun
(Hey, fit the niche) A
Hollywood entertainer will
Take a Xanax like a chewing gum
(Hit and miss) They're in outlandish debt and
Their planned text is crude and dumb
(A business risk) You know
That having a quality
End product should be the rule of thumb
(Fix the shit) But, it's obvious
The culture's been raped
But lies in a pool of cum
(Quit your shift) So I'm up early working
While you're squatting in Pilates class
Listening to Morning Becomes Eclectic and
Nodding to Johnny Cash
(A nigga's pissed) But
I don't have the same reservations
That a closet Nazi has
But, I'm as angst-ridden on
Thanksgiving as you are
When your favorite rapper gets dissed
On an opinion based site
You're a hippie who don't know
What chicken tastes like
Telling me who to pattern my career
After and who I'm sounding like
Hey why don't take your self-absorbed ass
And hop on your mountain bike
And go start a cipher at your
Parent's summer home on the veranda
Because you bite about 20 styles per stanza
But who cares because I'm frustrated, my
Records don't sell
And I can't seem to book a decent gig
And my indie label is understaffed
And these midi cables won't
Connect the drum pads
To the PA system, and my deejay's missing
And I'm barely able to feed my kid
And I hate my pad, I don't want to visit
I need to put new brake
Pads on my Honda Civic
I need an office visit from a
Known producer to do a remix
But, it's hard to recoup when he's paid
And I'm starting to shoot my screenplay
On Martin Luther King Day
So I'm basically over budget
And quite screwed
You burst on the scene already a legend
(No, I'm not) the unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
(Do you really think so? Okay)
You strayed into my arms
I've got a point system
That determines my happiness
Its unit of measurement is your
Interest in my crappy shit
Because I'm not dope, I'm not fresh
Ideas are overshot and undersung
What a dumb verse that is
I'm definitely not number one
A verse drowning deep within my flooded lung
My song dying deep in a pit
Of my blood and cum
The kids don't want to listen
They just want to have some fucking fun
You burst on the scene already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
Yeah I told this one guy that my record's
Name is Fear of a Black Tangent (Well you)
And he was kind of offended and he was like
"What like I can't be down cause
I'm not a black guy?"
I was like no, it's not
Really like that, it's just, it's just
(Hey, hit the switch) The DJ plays the
Fine dish and adjusts the high-pitch level
Why
(Hint to miss) Hand your girl the wine list
She smells of hibiscus pedals
(Whiff the grit) I show up
With my rhyme clique
Not in designer fit dress codes
(Get a wince) And they
Think we're timeless and
Starting singing along to our
Pirated down loads
(Admit the shit) I've never
Really been that social
Most the times I'm disheveled
(Is this it?) Since it's Fear
Of a Black Tangent
Do I got to call white kids devils?
(Oh, is it the pit's?) Or do I got to
Say nature's ovaries are bleeding
At a poetry reading?
(The kids are pissed) Because
The thoughts of an
Underground rap guy don't really go that way
(The kids are pissed) I think the mainstream
Vs independent argument is so passé
(Pick my disc) Thanks to my
10 stack-high cd duper
I'm an uneasy sleeper
(Get this) But a pacified TV viewer
Read about me in a weekly reader
(Fix the myth) And he said I'm a
Hip-Hop treaty breacher with my vivid tales
I spend less time alienating my audience then
I do trying to solicit sales
(So lick the dick) Because the scene
Is more than bitches, brew
And stinky reefer
(It's a trip) All the pee-wee leaguers
Kiss rings on our pinky fingers
(We spit the hit's) But why? I am
Meaningless product on a crowded shelf
A shout for help
I simmer in my dilapidated glee
Oh, get an account with
A popular Hip-Hop crew
Pay the activation fee
And buy a shirt, a hat, a pair of underwear
Cuz that's your favorite emcee
And I'm a spacey shoegazer
Who stares at Pluto
But I'll be a jiggy jigaboo
Who goes through laser hair removal
If it means that
I can pay my rent and other bills
You burst on the scene already a legend
(yeah) the unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
(I flew out to a show and nobody showed
Up, man, it was really like discouraging
But you know what I think?)
You strayed into my arms
I've got a point system
That determines my happiness
Its unit of measurement is your
Interest in my crappy shit
Because I'm not dope, I'm not fresh
Ideas are overshot and undersung
What a dumb verse that is
I'm definitely not number one
A verse drowning deep within my flooded lung
My song dying deep in a pit
Of my blood and cum
The kids don't want to listen
They just want to have some fucking fun
(Hey, fit the niche) A
Hollywood entertainer will
Take a Xanax like a chewing gum
(Hit and miss) They're in outlandish debt and
Their planned text is crude and dumb
(A business risk) You know
That having a quality
End product should be the rule of thumb
(Fix the shit) But, it's obvious
The culture's been raped
But lies in a pool of cum
(Quit your shift) So I'm up early working
While you're squatting in Pilates class
Listening to Morning Becomes Eclectic and
Nodding to Johnny Cash
(A nigga's pissed) But
I don't have the same reservations
That a closet Nazi has
But, I'm as angst-ridden on
Thanksgiving as you are
When your favorite rapper gets dissed
On an opinion based site
You're a hippie who don't know
What chicken tastes like
Telling me who to pattern my career
After and who I'm sounding like
Hey why don't take your self-absorbed ass
And hop on your mountain bike
And go start a cipher at your
Parent's summer home on the veranda
Because you bite about 20 styles per stanza
But who cares because I'm frustrated, my
Records don't sell
And I can't seem to book a decent gig
And my indie label is understaffed
And these midi cables won't
Connect the drum pads
To the PA system, and my deejay's missing
And I'm barely able to feed my kid
And I hate my pad, I don't want to visit
I need to put new brake
Pads on my Honda Civic
I need an office visit from a
Known producer to do a remix
But, it's hard to recoup when he's paid
And I'm starting to shoot my screenplay
On Martin Luther King Day
So I'm basically over budget
And quite screwed
You burst on the scene already a legend
(No, I'm not) the unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
(Do you really think so? Okay)
You strayed into my arms
I've got a point system
That determines my happiness
Its unit of measurement is your
Interest in my crappy shit
Because I'm not dope, I'm not fresh
Ideas are overshot and undersung
What a dumb verse that is
I'm definitely not number one
A verse drowning deep within my flooded lung
My song dying deep in a pit
Of my blood and cum
The kids don't want to listen
They just want to have some fucking fun
You burst on the scene already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms