Busdriver - Reality Sandwich lyrics

I'm a mail runner
Squished between an erupting street
And an exploding sky in a hail of numbers
I'm between knuckles and forces I
Still piñata trojan horses
To screen-test the bloodsuckers
I sit undressed in Fuddruckers
Screen-fuck motherfuckers
But while I record a sound
The motion pictures meet
'Cause, I'm where rivers and
Oceans greet each other
And I spent the day at the
Fool party with an Anti-flag
Instead of being at the pool
Party with a scantily clad
Walking boob job, whose snob?
I grip on her nipples when I speak to her
But they say it's just a artificial sweetener
Ask for my jar of pickles
And I'm obscene with her
'Cause, I'm a reality sandwich
Clumsy, ugly, unflinching
With a side of mayo, tomatoes
And a brought to you when I beckon
The word the cries to me but
You can't sound it out
Your ideal talent scout
The voice of reasoning between two
Pieces of bread that
Moistens and speaks to the dead
But to hang out with us
You need a lot of duct tape
And a wallet-sized photo of your brainstem

And often relay race with your ears
Shrieking when it sounds
You've probably made a wrong
Turn when you wanted
To end up in the lyricist lounge
You know a bit of bitches found over there
But over here we undergo a fearsome scrounge
To compile a style of ball
For your reality sandwich

Would you care to take a
Bite of this reality sandwich?
I think I've seen that you've
Nibbled on my reality sandwich

I'm an airborne pathogen
Mushed between sheet music and
A composer’s eye
The rarest form of craftsman
I feel that I get beat
Tapes from the omnipotent
But he has crappy drum tracks
And covetous of your artist clowns me
And I don't have a snappy comeback
What'd you expect from a moldy reality
Sandwich and unhappy lunch sack?
But it wants a little taste
'Cause, I'm a nerd eating pimple paste who
Used to work in a missile base
Building weapons of mass destruction
But now I form shrubs
And instead of nuclear arms
I give open-armed hugs
But what would you know about that?
You live in Burbank, and me
I have a word bank
You wear a necktie to accentuate your crotch
I usually meditate squat
You're like a menstruating twat
Or would you rather I count the
Unit's that my songs are selling
Sitting on the front porch
Eating some watermelon?
But how can you feel that
Way about a sparring heavyweight?
Who changes his appearance like Fletch
Starring Chevy Chase? But when I go to work
I can't seem to put my car in an empty space
Because I flunk-or-fail to the point that my
Panderous box is full of junk mail
"So I pull the skunk sail and
Get more than just a punch-in
" said the risktaker
And compass that would not rather
Be an unfit benchwarmer
If I play it safe the
Turntables become a cotton gin

I lay untouched in a room of hungry buzzards
In order to take that first bite
You need a whole lot of honey mustard
I tried the reality sandwich
And now I sleep in an airbed
Speaking to ground control
I'm kind of a square peg in
A round hole kind of guy
You know the song's over
When my fingers and the drum machine
Have been run over by a lawn mower
The song's over! (yeah)

Would you like to have a
Bite of this reality sandwich?
My shelf life ain’t the
Half-life of an isotope
But, I feel like the afterlife has
Always been twice as dope
Would you care to take a
Bite of this reality sandwich?