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Werner Herzog - Busdriver Lyrics

By: Admin | Artist: B busdriver | Published: 2024-25-09T14:29:25:00+07:00

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[verse 1: busdriver]
how could you call yourself the best rapper
you in a cover band that’s playing sledgehammer
in your cupped hands is pet hamster
your genitals are sitting on wet pampers
holdup while i test this red snapper
militant like a pledged panther
i hunt big name n-gga, i collect antlers
and you got b-tch problems, breast cancer
h-llfyre club we the wrong set to slander
we’ll make you eat a crepe filled with chia pet dander
and i always stay on the set with cameras
i go herzog, n-gga you dead like dirt dog
all you movie-making lames in the booty-shaking vein
on the moving gravy train are left in excruciating pain
because i’m in the house, you be like “which house?”
i make witch-house up at your b-tch’s house
wearing nothing but a speedo and a pig snout
y’all must have pr-cks and ovums
jocking me like i’m chris nolan
my scathing critique of your sh-t leaves your script molten
because you want to drive porches through the waterloos
have a home like the fortress of solitude
so on-set to snort sh-t through a hollow tube
but at the end you’re just gorgeous piranha food

[verse 2: open mike eagle]
he’s herzog, i’m p.t. anderson
at your premiere i snuck 3-d cameras in
i bootlegged your sh-t for the downtrodden
cause you got your film degree at a clown college
you use brown polish, like a white racist
and shoot t-tles in sans serif typefaces
take ten paces, and yell “fire!”
i nail you to a big board like mel kiper
no secret, i’ll tell you why i smell wiser
i got a bunch of girls pregnant cause i sell diapers
and i’m a god-d-mned g*nius
the marc maron a dark-skinned art baron
smart like lucky kids who get born to smart parents
who feed them locally-grown farmer’s market cart carrots
i eat fair trade cheese and fart fairness

[hook]
i…go…werner…herzog
i…go…werner…herzog
i…go…herzog
which means i get large spread art cred smart heads are fed

[verse 3: nocando]
skip the introduction, buddy i’m not mingling
hoes on my d-ck cause i look like john singleton
cut like tarantino with his big–ss machete
once i read my notebook, word to nick c-ssavetes
twelve frames, half a second, clockwork, stanley kubrick
a rap session i’ll put my nose in, i can’t be buddhist
i learned my lesson, i’m really a savvy student
but dark like tim burton, and look fit like a thin person
but i’m just a happy human
before i see a stupid rom-com with a nice chick
i might get, the right grip, to set up a light rig
attach a gopro to the po-po’s nightstick
and -ssault him with an icepick — and ask him how he likes it
excuse me — unhhh — my swag sharted
i feel like shaft with a sh-g on sh-g carpet
these rappers aren’t factors they’re actors with no sag cards in
they think they’re the truth but they that gossip rag garbage
written sh-t or freestyle, homie i’m that murderous
remember me? i used to enter them rap tournaments
breaking n-ggas’ spirits like a bag full of gl-ss ornaments
well b-tch it’s time to eat now, show me where craft service is
thinking out loud like an introspective extrovert
if i play the background i’m directing, not that extra work
bust that 16 but i decided to put in extra work
to make them strippers drop it super mega-low and extra twerk
rappers say they don’t hate, but most of ’em do
i feed off it like vigo in ghostbusters 2
i can roll up your crew, or throat-f-ck your boo
whatever transpires is so up to you
lights camera action
the whip is fully covered so i might have to crash it
getting southpaw hj’s from a right-handed ratchet
the airbag deploys
the credits start to roll
how anti-climactic
…
h-llfyre

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