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Buck 65

Richard Terfry (born March 4, 1972), better known by his stage name Buck 65, is a Canadian alternative hip hop artist. Underpinned by an extensive background in abstract hip hop, his more recent music has extensively incorporated blues, country, rock, folk and avant-garde influences. more »

Year:

2003

13:42

112 Views

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The man with the hair would talk real loud
He made feel proud for not being afraid,
He helped me get over my fear of the dark
And of the unknown in the year of the shark.
We'd meet in secret at the ends of the weeks
And we were friends of the freaks and the misunderstood.
We'd listen to jazz, or go for a drive
And I'm just glad we both were alive
And everyone knew that the giant was john
And no one had heard him once say a bad word.
Some say he's perverted, or maybe a manchild
Just 'cause his imagination ran wild
And what's wrong with that, in a world gone-a-fishing?
You want to run away from a man on a mission.
Wow bob, wow wake up and smell the coffee
Enjoy the scenery and the sounds of machinery.
Me and the man with the hair would compare notes
We both wear boots and drink rootbeer floats.
We told jokes with old people and lit things on fire,
And we all fall down in a small small town.
But now it's dark, and we follow the weird words of murmuring,
Burglars and murderers further than our father figures.
The nasty, ghastly, devious, and blasphemous
Provides a more lasting fascination for us both. 

Swimming upstream,
Young men and women are fiending for
Immediate intimacy with no limitiations.
Alas, the skirts don't hide the shadows
Cast by the bare ass on the dancefloor.
Sexual warfare waits in the staircase
And therefore most of them probably
Shouldn't even really be there in the first place.
Unarmed soldiers of lust rub shoulders
With those older and more immature than them,
It's disgusting, yet intruiging to see
Overachieving greasers unleashing themselves
Upon the female species,
Especially when the weather gets warmer and then
The whole entire wardrobe is normally informal.
For your information, the hats are worn backwards
And so are the morals when the girls wear overalls.
It's a sensitive issue involving insecurity
Maturity levels, and lots of toilet tissue 'cause

The girls are desperate,
But the boys are even hornier,
The rose smells sweet
But the stem is even thornier.
It's a match made in purgatory,
What more do you want to know?

The girls get goosebumps and nipples to notice but
No one knows how to communicate it's useless when
Lies are told with closed eyes and
Everybody tries to disguise their own flaws when the guys go,
"we need females and we read details."
It's card tricks and hard dicks
And a beat that goes like "uh uh uh yeah, uh huh uh uh yeah."
The neat part of the meat market apart from the
Darkness and lots of narcotics to me is the hard rocks,
No one needs to be told twice, there's plenty of cold ice,
Just tight pants and old spice who take shots and roll dice.
The carpets are crumby with puke coming out of them.
It's putrid and stupid
Why don't you make a contribution
To the plan-gathering, as a matter fact, word
What do you say, this Thursday?

The girls are desperate,
But the boys are even hornier.
The rose smells sweet
But the stem is even thornier.
It's a match made in purgatory,
What more do you want to know?

It smells like everything inside of the hideout
But I doubt anyone really wants to know why,
Oh my, goodness gracious, the place is basically bulging
With people indulging in, all kinds of fabric,
It's a magical buffet of pheromones and flesh
That defies all logic.
It's just like dodgeball, but instead of a ball
The contestants throw around the head of a doll
And I don't know what it means,
But it makes it worth the cost alone,
Even with the overflowing load of testosterone.
The sexual appetites are salty, it's a circus,
The circuits are faulty, and everybody's uptight
With sweat stains and jet planes and hot rod love songs,
Blistering kisses for every mister and misses,
In the same of time it takes for you to make a sandwich, love,
You can probably find someone for you to take advantage of.

'Cause the girls are desperate,
But the boys are even hornier.
The rose smells sweet
But the stem is even thornier.
It's a match made in purgatory,
What more do you want to know?

My long lost best friend was born to be wild,
When I was a kid, I conformed to his style.
Be-boy deluxe from yankees to canucks
With connects and contacts, and always came correct.
Exact him, except he was easily distracted by sleaziness,
Even when we should've been practicing
Because back when we had peach fuzz
He was freaking out each weekend.
And speaking of waiting for the end of the world,
He befriended a girl with a heart made of glass
And was afraid to ask if he was
Falling in love, falling asleep, falling apart, or all the above.
He was a fling, and she was his weakness,
Kissing his cheeks and playing with his paychecks.
At breakneck speed he was heading for a dead end,
Pretending he was healthy and defending himself,
He would always exaggerate and use his imagination.
Waiting for someone to say "congratulations,"
But I wasn't exactly happy for him, actually
After turning his back to me gradually.
I call it a tragedy, watching him disappear,
This year it's crystal clear, listen here

Stop this crazy thing, you're all dressed up,
With nowhere to go, and your head's all messed up

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