I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon
I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon (or possibly, one of the great all-time bus-drivers.)

It's the resurgence of the happy black rappers
But our African medallions are handicap placards.
I am alphabetized in the modernized retro
And my press photos are wallet sized. My rent's low
Why don't you shape me? I'm malleable flesh and putty
and a salad bowl with toad(?) dressing
and assimilated into urban fuel testing
Dress and doggy are coveted by a sexy bunny
afraid I'll add her to my burlesque show.
Who's slipping the ring finger of the lead singer and store fresh bowl.
Up in bitches rule with bee stingers but I'm refreshed though.
It's home of the black speed reader.
Perplexed or blurb stretched
Dude adjusted i am spacey(?) but the bird's nest is low.
Which means I'm commonplace.
Til the boy and me traveled the country in wooden spaceships
On the phone cussing at deep-booking agents.
I wield words that have come from the country with the underground who's-who
But I feel like I've been sodomized with a billiards pool cue.

I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
Pound my beliefs into the desired shape
And put them sound asleep in the fireplace.
I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
Pound my beliefs into the desired shape
And put them sound asleep in the fireplace.

It's the return of the all popular dope rappers
Who retreat to their holes in the sky, climbing up rope-ladders
And I will sell you a silver disc soaked in laughter,
Cause you've been brainwashed. Out of your ears leaks soap lather
Why don't you deify me? I'm Buckaroo Bonzai.
Don't know what to do, I'm the wrong guy.
I touch crews like touched groove on DVD
And I kinda started doing songs with CBE?
But now you're like (Chilla Villain who? Project what?)
Persona Non Grata with the wrist-band in front of Popsicle stick man.
He's a wall of hot lava. Drip crayon on your clipped glands.
So I found the top dollar. Twist strands to enrich fans.
But there's not a lotta offers. They give brands to cliche bands.
I water lawns for the ADD D&D role-players
And we got along, so we formed a commonwealth
And you hear me do random citings and file-sharing
And you tell me that song writing's like child bearing
No it's not, that's self indulgence
Elephant culprits watch their egos melt in charcoal pits.

I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
Pound my beliefs into the desired shape
And put them sound asleep in the fireplace.
I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
Pound my beliefs into the desired shape
And put them sound asleep in the fireplace.

Oh my. Sorry I left my acceptance speech in the back of the private car
And I re-wrote the Hollywood ending flux the motion-picture screen
Made it so the black guy doesn't die by the opening scene.
Oh my. Sorry I left my acceptance speech in the back of the private car
When I re-wrote the Hollywood ending flux the motion-picture screen
Made it so the black guy doesn't die by the opening scene.

Yeah! This is the climate of cathartic writer
That enables who couldn't in the market they lifer.
I've been out-sold and my styles are old and lame
I'll spark a lighter to the carpet fiber 'cause I'm not a household name.

I'm a tax write-off, I signed a deal with no exit clause.
My label's like Ms. Santa Clause on menopause, so I'm banging on padded walls.
So I'm trying to make hits, but I keep hitting pop flys
I don't eat out any more, I thaw chicken pot pies
But I used to be in the list of the top five
Fresh hip-hop guys.

I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.
Pound my beliefs into the desired shape
And put them sound asleep in the fireplace.
I am the first black astronaut
To walk the bare moon, from my air balloon.


Lyrics submitted by dastreets

Unemployed Black Astronaut song meanings
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2 Comments

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  • 0
    Lyric Correction90% of the lyrics here are wrong, I Have the album here infront of me and they're printed in the cd booklet. I'll upload later
    Blindingsunon July 18, 2011   Link
  • 0
    Lyric CorrectionIt'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:

    Chillin 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
    Blindingsunon July 18, 2011   Link

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