Mr. Buddy Buddy

Say hell to Mister Buddy Buddy The charlatan; the confidence man Half man half mannequin Living in the closet where the objects are inanimate Jingling his pockets, Talking money in his sleep Talking funny like a president, Buddy is a creep He studied to be a priest Now he preaches to the lost toys Speaking in a soft voice Sneaky with the altar boys Ask him what his name is He'll tell ya "Buddy Buddy, heh heh No relation." The living go to die in the hole where his face is At the beginning of time He showed Satan how to shapeshift Body image issues-- Never seen himself naked Making money is a hobby but he wants to be famous He goes antique shopping for Nazi pariphenalia But Buddy's not a racist He just loves a good sales pitch Whichever way the scales tip You can't knock the hustle Of reaching in your chest And squeezing that weak muscle... Mister Buddy Buddy Doin the Buddy Buddy (x4) Say hello to Buddy Buddy At the scene of the accident Master of the fast-pitch bumper sticker magnet Pump it to the masses Who snatch it up like addicts Unsnap the brass latches of alligator suitcase And pedal pleasant fragments With new and improved taste Six million ways to flavor the Kool Aid A ripple through his face when the room gets played Never let a little thing like Truth get in the way... The music he makes is loop-based Blooms like a stain Grows on ya like a rash or a tumor on the brain Cyanide and toothpaste, the tools of his trade Pass the laughing gas cuz Buddy is onstage! A master of the craft A study in blackface A series of site gags in utterly bad taste With a clearance price tag on everything he displays He gets the fuck outta Dodge ahead of the hurricane... Nothing remains but destruction in his wake And bunch of no-buddies Praying for more rain.... Mister Buddy Buddy Doin the Buddy Buddy (x4)