Ego Death Lyrics - Perfect Hair - Busdriver

Yeah, no, I understand what you're saying, but... is it sexier than torture? 

(shah, yeah, Los Angles) 

(Under the cellulite laden thigh of the night) 

(Yeah, oh shoot, lemme see if I can finish this) 

(Okay, lets go, yeah) 

(We can make this better) 

Under the cellulite laden thigh of the night 

I slip miniature mantras between my cries and gripes 

Jewel-flavored crystals in the red, blue, and white stripes 

While crowds throw numbers at me like The Price is Right 

And downtime is never met with an overjoyed grin 

Cause sleep and death have always been conjoined twins 

You'd rather lick the red gills of pop art 

Than your cement-filled pock marks 

The withering tendrils from my wrought heart 

Reach for a Benadryl like it was a lost ark 

Cause my average day is for the body of aegis, they're prompting these sieges 

We cry to these seniors, living inside of splotchy Adidas 

Serving consecutive sentences 

My corrective lenses is ruby quartz 

Yet m vision ain't worth a jiggling of booty warts 

Circumstances trap writers like Kathy Bates 

Under a decolorized happy face 

So my car ain't covered in candy paint 

But still the nanny state can't fix the diaper rash 

I'm pinging this on a cyber cast 

Questioning news items playing pattycake with Ira Glass 

The fact that this pony show's racist 

Stirs the colloquial cake mix and charges the homeostasis 

Of all the homies who await us like we some Smokin' Joe Fraziers 

But my unchecked whining's like some ceremonial plate shift 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better 

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Before long, boil the bones 

A little celery chop 

A little pepper, a little milk of the poppy 

Little posse in effect 

Analog mono-poly Man'o'War 

Walloping the auto-poly avatar 

Mind on his Mallomars 

Money on the iron lung 

Clumsy with the can of worms 

Usher you behind the sun 

He shoots he whores, truly stupid troubadours and elders 

Stock the shelter with frijoles and blueberry New York Seltzers 

Roll up in a pa-diddle like a doofus 

Hit the corner like the devil is a cubist 

I'm ruthless, the sigil is dog with a cone, feeling foolish 

Seven hells calling all foreseeable futures 

Be it obtained culprit 

Crippling migraine and strange stomach 

Or a stray bullet through his gray mullet 

I am ivy up the god damn lattice 

March to the math rock 

Raw, no cartoon mascot 

The Mario pajama bottoms clumsily rappelling 

Under a gibbous moon 

Hunting for shitty food 

Gunning, too tough, embedded in bad magic 

Duckboy, shit is quacktastic 

Photos 

I'm not done yet 

I'm not done yet 

I'm not done yet 

I'm not done yet 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better 

Rap Marilyn Manson, about as hot as a Vanson 

With two hoodies on the beach with two bitches crump dancin' 

Rappers put your bets in, last man standin' 

Bars hit so hard you ricochet off the planet 

The motherfucking hybrid, tell Miley Cyrus text me 

When I holler to her private I'm tryna get them privates 

Parts, don't start, take heart like Kano 

Remember when I told to you niggas drink all the Dran-o 

Pop all the pills, take all the lines 

Chop through a window with some sawblade blinds 

Back on that shit, guess what this time? 

Half a stick of dynamite where the sun don't shine 

Any nigga disrespecting, chin check 'em 'til he's slinky-neck 

Blowing dope, eyes low and chinky like I'm Mannie Fresh 

Countdown to extinction, no nigga not Megadeath 

So many dead rappers, can't even take baby steps 

Walking over carcasses of artists in my garden 

Been nice with this shit since Nas was writin' past the margin 

Any nigga wanna start it, I fuckin' beg your pardon 

I'm with arson, I'm the firestarter; Prodigy invent the art 

Smack my bitch up in the mouth with my dick 

And it's not domestic violence cause she likes that shit 

There's no sentence to describe it, homie 

Except she sucked it like her fucking life depended on it 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will 

We're just looking for something inside us to kill 

We can make this better 

Aes Rizzo ain't got that perfect hair 

Danny Brown ain't got that perfect hair 

Driver ain't got that perfect hair 

Jeremiah Jae ain't got that perfect hair