[Intro]

Hey, hey, hey!

[Verse 1]

I was in a Hip Hop hair band

When I was watching Yo! MTV Raps

Then I went to the CV shack

And I burned my unpublished books

And invented my young rugged looks

Through an investment on your CD rack

When I became a star, now girls show me their bikini wax

And shower me in vaginal secretions

For no rational reasons

Whatever happened to the undying purist's fuel to buy the wishful rant?

The rap quiz bowl champ

Now I get invited to after-parties where girls have good snatch and nipple clamps (Yeah right!)

I'm supposed to be protesting at a missile plant

I'm supposed to be casting an unpopular vote

Instead of basking in a sauna in the water-soaked swim trunks

There's a skin chunk on my salad fork

There's an inconsistency in my valid retort

You can dig in an underground T-shirt bin

But you're just on the outside looking in

So I poured formaldehyde under your cooking skin

Because I'm from L.A

Which means I'm a style snob

I can't imagine the validity of any rapper who can put me out of a job

'Cause while they were reading Calvin and Hobbes

We found polyrhythms in their basic loop

But I'm not from your favorite group

Put up your cypher circle's sacred hoop

I'm a hula-hooper, bazooka-shooter, new recruiter of a daisy-duke-wearing lone groupie

I'll [?] ask she'll play and take part in my home movie

Because I'm a scene slut

You facetious fucks, if y'all don't make some noise I'll be applying for employment at Pizza Hut

Let's be level-headed, you can probably see through me

I'm the white man's character's nigga friend in the ethnocentric teen movie

Well, shut the health nut's mouth, just pay him for the green smoothie

[Chorus]

Hold on, I'm still important

I was the clumsy co-author of your celebrated mantra

For your movement, then my felt pen turned into a coke spoon

And I want my love back

So I await a note boom

Want to see my live performance? (No!)

How about I bump us a verse? (No!)

What if I made a television appearance? (No!)

Want to hear some exclusive tracks? (No!)

Damn, tough crowd

I thought they would always touch clouds when I bust styles, but what now?

[Verse 2]

What kind of name is Busdriver?

Is it just a wack allegory?

And it can't be justified by any background story?

I heard he sucks live, only appeals to hipsters who dress like Russian spies

Who are painfully cool and have button-eyes

A fan will squeeze a pint of fresh juice, and it'll discompose a recluse

But no childhood sex abuse can explain my terrible habits

That is why "single" is my marital status

And it's why I'll happily take cash advances from charitable half-wits

And being that I'm from the Project Blowed

I'm constantly probed by the weak and the dull

With poor and boring things asked, I'll put a breech in the hole

Of their exploratory space craft with oratory weight mass, bleach their skulls

'Cause in recent polls, a black rapper's viewed as a voyeuristic dunce

Who doesn't care about the B-Boyer's intrinsic hunch

And now indie music is instant lunch, at industry parties I piss in the punch

And won't take a business card, I have a disregard for life

I'm not on a mission to Mars to leave satellite-dish shards in the night

[Chorus]

Hold on, I'm still important

I was the clumsy co-author of your celebrated mantra

For your movement, then my felt pen turned into a coke spoon

And I want my love back

So I await a note boom

Want to see my live performance? No!

How about a bump us a verse? No!

What if I made a television appearance? No!

Want to hear some exclusive tracks? No!

Damn, tough crowd

I thought they would always touch clouds when I bust styles, but what now?

[Outro]

I thought they would always go buck wild, but now they want a nigga with a plucked brow

Wow, tough crowd

The room is fucking loud