Casting Agents And Cowgirls 歌词
| 歌曲 | Casting Agents And Cowgirls |
| 歌手 | Busdriver |
| 专辑 | RoadKillOvercoat |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Busdriver | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| You did it, you got it, you wowed the world | |
| Of casting agents and cowgirls | |
| Fess up, you're dressed up to kill yourself | |
| Oh, yeah | |
| Girl, I'm a walking plane-crash to your moms and dads | |
| Ostentatious and crass pulling the gauze off your scabs | |
| Bitch, I negate the myth of the 'great black boyfriend' | |
| In the Polaroid at the get-together | |
| Wearing a corduroy vest-sweater | |
| So don't get that engagement ring engraved | |
| 'Cause before we met you thought that hood rats laid eggs | |
| And that rappers were just sky pirates with peg legs | |
| But I kick it with you simply for the shits and giggles, playful innuendos | |
| You thought, "he's just an uber-dred for the federal fiscal cap" | |
| But after brunch, you'll need | |
| Two Sudafeds and a disco nap | |
| After I drain your insides with a crazy straw | |
| You ain't my baby-doll | |
| "'Cause nigga you reek of coffee-shop blend" | |
| My baby's a lollipop that caters to the miss polyglot's whim" | |
| With addictive agents that outweigh Oxycontins | |
| And our phobias perfectly fit | |
| It takes a quirky chick with curvy hips to petrify this working-stiff | |
| [Chorus:] | |
| You did it, you got it | |
| You wowed the world | |
| Of casting agents and cowgirls | |
| Fess up you're dressed up to kill yourself | |
| While I'm still on the shelf | |
| They want an everyman milking the oldest gags | |
| Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags | |
| They want an everyman milking the oldest gags | |
| Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags | |
| I'll be today's avatar of the pre-fad | |
| Then end up a child star in rehab | |
| It's like a bed-and-breakfast | |
| I'm sending a text message on my keypad | |
| Saying "I have no more to say to my ex-manager/sea hag divorcee | |
| except eat shit and die" | |
| My daily commute ends with a fender-bender | |
| 'Cause no one acknowledges my ten-year tenure | |
| I've got the know-how the thrill your scene | |
| But they want someone lowbrow, a philistine | |
| With iron-on irony for Viacom's white honkies | |
| They'll send you a girl wearing tight thongs under nylon gis | |
| "Let's all hit" | |
| But I'm not for the gaudy gangbang | |
| the thought of it turns my member to a soggy plantain | |
| and shit, I get off on news leads | |
| and your pet mouse meat, | |
| set and poised with sex toys | |
| in your penthouse suite believing you're Lou Reed | |
| I spit used reeds out the wet mouthpiece | |
| Even when sex appeal is taboo, | |
| electric bills are past due | |
| My head is clear of engineered, election-year snafu | |
| [Chorus] | |
| I used to say, **** it | |
| Wouldn't placate the functionaries | |
| Too busy making play-dates with buxom secretaries | |
| But I hope that my homies don't laugh, | |
| my choreographed dance steps | |
| Are a little effeminate for a sociopath | |
| We've been airbrushed so much we look like a claymation zoo | |
| I'm a voice-over on your PlayStation 2 | |
| But in my hey-day, my ethical fiber | |
| would turn stages into firewood | |
| [Chorus] |
| zuo ci : Busdriver | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| You did it, you got it, you wowed the world | |
| Of casting agents and cowgirls | |
| Fess up, you' re dressed up to kill yourself | |
| Oh, yeah | |
| Girl, I' m a walking planecrash to your moms and dads | |
| Ostentatious and crass pulling the gauze off your scabs | |
| Bitch, I negate the myth of the ' great black boyfriend' | |
| In the Polaroid at the gettogether | |
| Wearing a corduroy vestsweater | |
| So don' t get that engagement ring engraved | |
| ' Cause before we met you thought that hood rats laid eggs | |
| And that rappers were just sky pirates with peg legs | |
| But I kick it with you simply for the shits and giggles, playful innuendos | |
| You thought, " he' s just an uberdred for the federal fiscal cap" | |
| But after brunch, you' ll need | |
| Two Sudafeds and a disco nap | |
| After I drain your insides with a crazy straw | |
| You ain' t my babydoll | |
| "' Cause nigga you reek of coffeeshop blend" | |
| My baby' s a lollipop that caters to the miss polyglot' s whim" | |
| With addictive agents that outweigh Oxycontins | |
| And our phobias perfectly fit | |
| It takes a quirky chick with curvy hips to petrify this workingstiff | |
| Chorus: | |
| You did it, you got it | |
| You wowed the world | |
| Of casting agents and cowgirls | |
| Fess up you' re dressed up to kill yourself | |
| While I' m still on the shelf | |
| They want an everyman milking the oldest gags | |
| Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags | |
| They want an everyman milking the oldest gags | |
| Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags | |
| I' ll be today' s avatar of the prefad | |
| Then end up a child star in rehab | |
| It' s like a bedandbreakfast | |
| I' m sending a text message on my keypad | |
| Saying " I have no more to say to my exmanager sea hag divorcee | |
| except eat shit and die" | |
| My daily commute ends with a fenderbender | |
| ' Cause no one acknowledges my tenyear tenure | |
| I' ve got the knowhow the thrill your scene | |
| But they want someone lowbrow, a philistine | |
| With ironon irony for Viacom' s white honkies | |
| They' ll send you a girl wearing tight thongs under nylon gis | |
| " Let' s all hit" | |
| But I' m not for the gaudy gangbang | |
| the thought of it turns my member to a soggy plantain | |
| and shit, I get off on news leads | |
| and your pet mouse meat, | |
| set and poised with sex toys | |
| in your penthouse suite believing you' re Lou Reed | |
| I spit used reeds out the wet mouthpiece | |
| Even when sex appeal is taboo, | |
| electric bills are past due | |
| My head is clear of engineered, electionyear snafu | |
| Chorus | |
| I used to say, it | |
| Wouldn' t placate the functionaries | |
| Too busy making playdates with buxom secretaries | |
| But I hope that my homies don' t laugh, | |
| my choreographed dance steps | |
| Are a little effeminate for a sociopath | |
| We' ve been airbrushed so much we look like a claymation zoo | |
| I' m a voiceover on your PlayStation 2 | |
| But in my heyday, my ethical fiber | |
| would turn stages into firewood | |
| Chorus |
| zuò cí : Busdriver | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| Hey | |
| You did it, you got it, you wowed the world | |
| Of casting agents and cowgirls | |
| Fess up, you' re dressed up to kill yourself | |
| Oh, yeah | |
| Girl, I' m a walking planecrash to your moms and dads | |
| Ostentatious and crass pulling the gauze off your scabs | |
| Bitch, I negate the myth of the ' great black boyfriend' | |
| In the Polaroid at the gettogether | |
| Wearing a corduroy vestsweater | |
| So don' t get that engagement ring engraved | |
| ' Cause before we met you thought that hood rats laid eggs | |
| And that rappers were just sky pirates with peg legs | |
| But I kick it with you simply for the shits and giggles, playful innuendos | |
| You thought, " he' s just an uberdred for the federal fiscal cap" | |
| But after brunch, you' ll need | |
| Two Sudafeds and a disco nap | |
| After I drain your insides with a crazy straw | |
| You ain' t my babydoll | |
| "' Cause nigga you reek of coffeeshop blend" | |
| My baby' s a lollipop that caters to the miss polyglot' s whim" | |
| With addictive agents that outweigh Oxycontins | |
| And our phobias perfectly fit | |
| It takes a quirky chick with curvy hips to petrify this workingstiff | |
| Chorus: | |
| You did it, you got it | |
| You wowed the world | |
| Of casting agents and cowgirls | |
| Fess up you' re dressed up to kill yourself | |
| While I' m still on the shelf | |
| They want an everyman milking the oldest gags | |
| Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags | |
| They want an everyman milking the oldest gags | |
| Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags | |
| I' ll be today' s avatar of the prefad | |
| Then end up a child star in rehab | |
| It' s like a bedandbreakfast | |
| I' m sending a text message on my keypad | |
| Saying " I have no more to say to my exmanager sea hag divorcee | |
| except eat shit and die" | |
| My daily commute ends with a fenderbender | |
| ' Cause no one acknowledges my tenyear tenure | |
| I' ve got the knowhow the thrill your scene | |
| But they want someone lowbrow, a philistine | |
| With ironon irony for Viacom' s white honkies | |
| They' ll send you a girl wearing tight thongs under nylon gis | |
| " Let' s all hit" | |
| But I' m not for the gaudy gangbang | |
| the thought of it turns my member to a soggy plantain | |
| and shit, I get off on news leads | |
| and your pet mouse meat, | |
| set and poised with sex toys | |
| in your penthouse suite believing you' re Lou Reed | |
| I spit used reeds out the wet mouthpiece | |
| Even when sex appeal is taboo, | |
| electric bills are past due | |
| My head is clear of engineered, electionyear snafu | |
| Chorus | |
| I used to say, it | |
| Wouldn' t placate the functionaries | |
| Too busy making playdates with buxom secretaries | |
| But I hope that my homies don' t laugh, | |
| my choreographed dance steps | |
| Are a little effeminate for a sociopath | |
| We' ve been airbrushed so much we look like a claymation zoo | |
| I' m a voiceover on your PlayStation 2 | |
| But in my heyday, my ethical fiber | |
| would turn stages into firewood | |
| Chorus |
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