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Correct Fishy Face Lyrics
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Busdriver
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Correct Fishy Face
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My love jet was supposed to be fuel efficient But everybody knows that is just a boobish misprint On the brochure; Oh sure, such a hubris is fit To procure your pure, yeah, prudish princess Back when I put my reproductive glands in a plaster cast Thinkin' that my Woody Woodpecker would always flabbergast But my head trouser snake is more like a pamper asp And I never had the candor to ask, "Am I really all that?" (Uh...) Way before I ever got to pinch the folds Of the hottest chicks, comic strips were like ninja scrolls And my heart was an iridescent listless cove Yeah, I'm echoing the rhetoric of pimpin' hoes From the homies sipping on a Michelob Yeah, fuck them niggas, they can all just lick my chode Because I speak in amorous whispers that wisp her lobe I said I speak in amorous whispers that wisp her lobe But in order for a lady to ever admit my bulge I need an entrance fee or an encryption code Should I start cookin' crack on the kitchen stove? Actin' like a superfly stupefied, wearing an Egyptian robe Or just join a swing band, get a wingman Maybe I can pull girls with the old pick-and-roll I need a beauty queen from movie scenes to kiss this toad Not my goofy schemes resulting in me getting a fist to the nose Hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face When I'm throwin' "what ifs" at your puffed lips Hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face When my sky's beneath your shoes Don't go, no, die slowly, cuz we don't get along no more And so I figured I could draft a piece of fiction While you were waiting for food at the pizza kitchen Just romanticize the idea of being grief-stricken Yeah, all grumpy and bummy and all fleabitten And now your sex drive is revved up within each piston I found the perfect way for a nigga to meet chickens I'm now the persnickety palindrome piecer Her fidgety xylophone seeker Suffering in a used car, FUBAR, with my teeth missin' And now I bone a range of after-party harlots Kickin' this old game like an Atari cartridge Just from freelancing with a socialist tribune, I get poon And give dick to who wants the goo gob And diss Lou Dobbs and Brit Hume like Smooches, kisses, smooches, kisses Smooches, kisses, smooches, kisses Smooches, kisses, smooches, kisses Smooches, kisses, smooches, smooches Hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face When I'm throwin' "what ifs" at your puffed lips Hey, hey, hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face When my sky's beneath your shoes Come on now, no one thinks that real niggas love rappin' nerdy Or go to art exhibits and museums and view taxidermy So go date a slew of tax attorneys Who have logistically mapped their thirties But I put them fools on padded gurneys I hit it when your ass was fat and perky But now you look like a Susan Sarandon doll And I'm as volatile as a human cannon ball I still rap like it's commentary for a horse race With the political impetus of John Kerry's court case For a vote recount--I got O.G. clout I tell hoes, "Peace out" when they become bitter Strawberry Shortcakes I move on, sleep on a futon arbitrarily in a storage space From now on I solemnly make a pledge To move her in just cause she's great in bed And grate hearts up on a serrated edge And break a year lease While screamin' in your ear piece Hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face When I'm throwin' "what ifs" at your puffed lips Hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face When my sky's beneath your shoes Don't go, no, die slowly, cuz we don't get along no more. (x6)
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