Every time I hear the flow and cadence of Busdriver it takes me back to the 1920s and a smoky jazz cellar in uptown New York.  From the deeper sounds to the crescendo, his voice will hit various notes throughout a song.  He also reminds me of the scat styles that became popular around that time as well.  Sometimes hard to decipher, I’ve always liked Busdriver for his choice of words and the fluidity of his multi-syllable rhyme pattern, something I truly adore. 

I’m just here to hold your hand till you die
And to show you around imaginary places
Put money lumps in my bloody stump
And I will have a smile that’s a perfect circle
Die in your sleep with the sky at your feet
I’m shoot you when you’re happy, only then will you find peace
How do you do? I don’t know I’m okay
Every person I know is a secret service agent
Because I’ve been accused of lewd conduct
Stole the heart of a prude prom slut
And they got the warrant for my arrest to put me in
the loony bin, the funny farm, cause of what I did

But I’m just here to hold your hand as you die
There is not a single person who can do it better
No needle skippin in my ecosystem
But in the audience may be an evil Christian
HMO how I hate him so
He wants to charge me for a halo
But I’m on a scavenger hunt for a lavender chunk
of the sky, maybe I’ll replace it with a mud-pie
I put dead songs on a silk screen
Buy my shirt it is a killed dream
It is known to lead the way to the stairwell
to God’s administrative office and a final farewell

I’m just here to hold your hand when you die
And to give your assault rifle a banana clip
Glow in the dark when I stroll in the park
Givin everybody informative pamphlets!
No sign of life for as far as I can see
Everybody’s just charred meat up in the car seat
Eat shit and die to the secret spy
Cause I have a funny feeling that I’m being watched
24-hour surveillance
Money or power are ailments