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Unemployed Black Astronaut lyrics

It s the resurgence of the happy black rappers
But now African medallions are handicap placards
And we re alphabetized in the modernized retro
And my press photos are wallet-size
My rent s low
Why don t you shape me
I m malleable fleshy putty
In a salad bowl with dill dressing
In simulated urban field testing
Dressing thuggy
Accompanied by a sexy bunny
Straight out of a burlesque show
She ll sever the ring finger of the lead singer
And stir a fresh bowl
Of the bitch s brew with bee stingers
But Leimert s fresh though
It s home of the black speed-reader
Perplexed our blurbs stretch
To suggest that I m spacy
But the bird nest is low
Which means I m commonplace
To the point we travel the country in wooden spaceships
On the phone cursing at the booking agents
I wield words and I pilfer the country with the underground s who s
who
But I feel like I ve been sodomized with a billiard s pool cue

I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon
From my air balloon
Pound my beliefs into the desired shape
Then put them sound asleep in a fireplace

It s the return of the unpopular dope rappers
Who retreat to holes in the sky
Climbing up rope ladders
And will sell you a silver disc soaked in laughter
Because you ve been brainwashed
Out of your ears leaks soap lather
Why don t you deify me
I m Buckaroo Bonsai
I don t know what to do
I m the wrong guy
I touch crews like Krush Groove on DVD
And I got my start doing songs with CVE
But now you re like:
Chilling Villain who? Project what?
Persona non grata
No wristband for the popsicle stick man
He s a wad of hot lava
Drip crayon on your clipped glands
Won t squander top dollar
Twists strands to enrich fans
But there s not a lot of offers
They give grands to kitsch bands
I water lawns
For the ADD D&D role players
And we got along
So we formed a commonwealth
And you hear me through random sightings and file sharing
And you tell me that songwriting s like childbearing
No it s not
It s self-indulgence
Elfin culprits watch their egos melt in charcoal pits

Oh my
Sorry I left my acceptance speech
In the back of the private car
And I rewrote the Hollywood ending
Fluxed the motion picture screen
Made it so the black guy doesn t die by the opening scene

It s the decline of the cathartic writer
And the label s who couldn t market a Lifer
I ve been outsold and my style s old and lame
I ll spark a lighter to the carpet fiber
Because I m not a household name
I m a tax write-off
I signed a deal with no exit clause
My label s like Mrs. Santa Claus during menopause
So I m banging on padded walls
Because I m trying to make hits
But I keep hitting pop flies
I don t eat out anymore
I thaw out chicken pot pies
But I used to be on the list of the top five
Fresh hip-hop guys
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