Songtext zu 'Ethereal Driftwood' von Busdriver

Y all want to see tits 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 accomplish 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
Unscaved 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 plan 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
-You know what we want-
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
Im 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