Fishy Face

(アルバム： Jhelli Beam - 2009)

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
Thinking 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 pimping 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 cooking crack on the kitchen stove?
Acting 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 throwing "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, cause 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 missing
And now I bone a range of after-party harlots
Kicking 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 throwing "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 rapping 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 screaming in your ear piece

Hey, I make that fishy face, that kissy face
When I'm throwing "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, cause we don't get along no more
Don't go, no, die slowly, cause we don't get along no more
Don't go, no, die slowly, cause we don't get along no more
Don't go, no, die slowly, cause we don't get along no more
Don't go, no, die slowly, cause we don't get along no more
Don't go, no, die slowly, cause we don't get along no more