Wormholes

[Busdriver] Wormholes It's easy to see that there's something wrong Wood pulp But there's an uninterrupted tissue Windows, outside, wormholes Between you and what cannot be I'm an early-90's anachronism Some kind of pan-African fitness gym A lost class action petition See I'm the reasoning behind your kid's slam dancing and ransacking the kitchen and den And you're glad I happened in a distant then Fast rapping pinned under a fish's fins I excuse the shenanigans of your dissonant binge on the aesthetic of yesteryear See cause I too thought it was cool how they would cower Before Action Jackson's cinnamon skin That was when the cost of an extra set of ears Was a critical listen to my follow-up And you allowed me to stock your pantry with my bottled muck Staff at retail outlets cry on their sleeves Radio programmers dry-heave And you, the smart buyers, run at high speeds Into a mile-high corporate sponsored silver screen With a children's theme ad campaign I've watch the tormented saunter through the madman's game room and said, "go ahead" Give your body to the iron cervix as spare parts But there's a flying circus in your impaired heart And yet you put a for-sale sign under your Stargate And I did an amphibian advance simian dance on an Indian res because the city is dead And no one wants to hear me retrace my ancestry from a transatlantic boat cruise They want to hear my frantic energy diffuse through ProTools Wormholes Out of natural law, dimension jumper Wood pulp Windows, outside, wormholes Dissolve castle walls and end numbers Wormholes Draped with fuchsia, it's a faint future Wood pulp Windows, outside, wormholes It's a 90's throwback in a b-boy's suit on a tiny coat rack And so I'm flushed down the wormhole Like a dump chute with a b-boy's jump suit as church clothes Speaking post-dated psychobabble that has yet to be cultivated I'm a free-floating spermicidal tadpole Or am I the meaning of your prior god Re-enacted by actors reading dialogue An unquantifiable sum That's sold in a used rap section A track selection deleted from your iPod But I carefully cleaned your eyes with swabs I was your seeing-eye dog And you've never been loved before 'til I ruptured the core Screaming that the sky's been robbed Pre-warn the deformed body of work With free-form choreography quirks That the salesmen have date-raper pick up lines And I have a wastepaper basket with fish guts and time constraints I'm not contractually bound to make you happy and round