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Unemployed Black Astronaut Lyrics

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.
2 Meanings

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Cover art for Unemployed Black Astronaut lyrics by Busdriver

90% 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

Lyric Correction
Cover art for Unemployed Black Astronaut lyrics by Busdriver

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:

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

Lyric Correction
 
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