Busdriver - Werner Herzog Feat. NoCanDo & Open Mike Eagle Lyrics
[Verse 1: Busdriver]How could you call yourself the best rapperYou in a cover band that’s playing SledgehammerIn your cupped hands is pet hamsterYour genitals are sitting on wet pampersHoldup while I test this Red SnapperMilitant like a pledged PantherI hunt big name nigga, I collect antlersAnd you got ***** problems, breast cancerHellfyre Club we the wrong set to slanderWe’ll make you eat a crepe filled with Chia pet danderAnd I always stay on the set with camerasI go Herzog, nigga you dead like Dirt DogAll you movie-making lames in the booty-shaking veinOn the moving gravy train are left in excruciating painBecause I’m in the house, you be like “which house?”I make Witch-House up at your *****’s houseWearing nothing but a Speedo and a pig snoutY’all must have pricks and ovumsJocking me like I’m Chris NolanMy scathing critique of your shit leaves your script moltenBecause you want to drive porches through the WaterloosHave a home like the Fortress of SolitudeSo on-set to snort shit through a hollow tubeBut at the end you’re just gorgeous piranha food[Verse 2: Open Mike Eagle]He's Herzog, I'm P.T. AndersonAt your premiere I snuck 3-D cameras inI bootlegged your shit for the downtroddenCause you got your film degree at a clown collegeYou use brown polish, like a white racistAnd shoot titles in Sans Serif typefacesTake ten paces, and yell "Fire!"I nail you to a big board like Mel KiperNo secret, I'll tell you why I smell wiserI got a bunch of girls pregnant cause I sell diapersAnd I'm a god-damned geniusThe Marc Maron a dark-skinned art baronSmart like lucky kids who get born to smart parentsWho feed them locally-grown farmer's market cart carrotsI eat fair trade cheese and fart fairness[Hook]I...go...Werner...HerzogI...go...Werner...HerzogI...go...HerzogWhich means I get large spread art cred smart heads are fed[Verse 3: Nocando]Skip the introduction, buddy I'm not minglingHoes on my dick cause I look like John SingletonCut like Tarantino with his big-ass macheteOnce I read my notebook, word to Nick CassavetesTwelve frames, half a second, Clockwork, Stanley KubrickA rap session I'll put my nose in, I can't be BuddhistI learned my lesson, I'm really a savvy studentBut dark like Tim Burton, and look fit like a thin personBut I'm just a happy humanBefore I see a stupid rom-com with a nice chickI might get, the right grip, to set up a light rigAttach a GO Pro to the po-po's nightstickAnd assault him with an icepick -- and ask him how he likes itExcuse me -- unhhh -- my swag shartedI feel like Shaft with a shag on shag carpetThese rappers aren't factors they're actors with no SAG cards inThey think they're the truth but they that gossip rag garbageWritten shit or freestyle, homie I'm that murderousRemember me? I used to enter them rap tournamentsBreaking niggas' spirits like a bag full of glass ornamentsWell ***** it's time to eat now, show me where craft service isThinking out loud like an introspective extrovertIf I play the background I'm directing, not that extra workBust that 16 but I decided to put in extra workTo make them strippers drop it super mega-low and extra twerkRappers say they don't hate, but most of 'em doI feed off it like Vigo in Ghostbusters 2I can roll up your crew, or throat-***** your booWhatever transpires is so up to youLights Camera ActionThe whip is fully covered so I might have to crash itGetting southpaw HJ's from a right-handed ratchetThe airbag deploysThe credits start to rollHow anti-climactic...Hellfyre
