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lirik lagu sorry fuckers – busdriver

i’m at my t-tty signing at the barnes & n-bles
you brown-nose but your downloads only show marginal growth
why do you dress like a lesbian welder?
only a middle-aged woman looks s-xy in elk fur
you get injured at the hipster bar
i hit you with a ninja star and then i speed off in my car
my life is like a day-to-day p-rn shoot
you’ll mayday for more troops when i say “sorry f-ckers”
see that girl, she’s a great lay with her scorched roots
plus she’s got a grade-a horse caboose
that’s my lady! i just squeeze her cheeks
while you sit and twitch like a jesus freak
you’re from hollywood; you get your sphincter bleached
sit your -ss home and eat your quiche
i’m the dude that your girl would be pleased to meet
she’ll want to suck me off with those beaver teeth
but i decline the offer. i drive a flying saucer
to perform on neighboring moons
and do the giddy-up with some iffy sl-t
who’s drinking pick-me-ups out of those dixie cups
to the young boozer, and the drug user
put the syringe on the baking teaspoon
that means play this it’ll spike your blood sugar
i’ll have your soulmate tied to the subwoofer
sorry f-ckers, you squares f-cked up
plus your haircut sucks, watch your girl upchuck
sorry f-ckers, we get their thumbs up
make ’em cry bleed, dry heave
sorry f-ckers; we’ll extract the b-tch in you
sorry f-ckers, and dictate what you listen to
give them face time with unloved ladies’ men
eschewing life through a dumb ’80s trend
with a litany of pop culture reference points
my tenor voice will make the women all wet and moist
while i’m wrestling with women in boxers with leopard print
and yes, that’s me arching a pouring gl-ss at the tee off
me getting the boarding p-ss at the kiosk
me eating fish with french cream sauce
being celebrated at the confetti toss
i’m waving from the project blowed parade float
completely nude under my raincoat
while you’re in your backpacker entrapments
battle rapping with a series of gay jokes
you’re welcomed to peep game
but when they start riding the jock they seldom deplane
a deceased c-ck, a pudding geyser
the hung dong’s the swung baton of the womanizer
but for my b-tches it’s a springboard
to a place where dreams are forged
and i’ll smack these geeky young twerps
out of their medium shirts
sorry f-ckers, you squares f-cked up
plus your haircut sucks, watch your girl upchuck
sorry f-ckers, we get their thumbs up
make ’em cry bleed, dry heave
sorry f-ckers; we’ll extract the b-tch in you
sorry f-ckers, and dictate what you listen to
give them face time with unloved ladies’ men
eschewing life through a dumb ’80s trend

- busdriver

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