Sunday Driver Lyrics - Buck 65

I walk the earth quietly, 

by day carry a net. 

With no strings attached, 

to a magic marionette. 

See there's so little time left 

and yet there's so much space. 

Thinking why don't you give me a call later on 

so we can touch base. 

I swim across the seven seas, 

and follow the sounds of handclaps. 

And just try to keep my balls 

out of the sand traps, heh. 

'Cause before I go on live, 

all my enemies try to contrive 

plots to make my whole entire 

routine take a swan dive. 

But this ain't commercialized 

hip hop or indie pop. 

Nah, this ain't the mashed potato. 

Uh-Uh,this ain't the windy hop. 

The dance that goes with this 

is called the keep perfectly still. 

Before your brain becomes burnt out, 

like cheap circuitry will. 

Lately I've been spending almost 

all my nights with my hands full. 

Between writing my rhymes 

and my fights with the Man-Wolf. 

I'm building a better mousetrap 

and plus a wider fence. 

'Cause I trust my instincts 

and I follow my spider-sense.