Buffalo Sun Societys Claim To Fame Lyrics
Society's Claim To Fame by Buffalo Sun
Well the sensitive glisten
Of societies system
Seems nothing but a peerless plight
Indulging in caviar
And drooling upon new cars
Getting some ass on Friday night
With their one night honeymoon
And overfilled credit card balloon
They seem to knock-up with over-due respect
It's their way of saying
My dues I ain't paying
'Til1 you give me a bonus check
Domestic influenced heads
Sit upon affluent beds
And pray to their Gods for more bread
When they've drunk all the wine
And they're tired of crying
They congregate to another bed
Their superficial nonsense
Let's them rap on with no sense
Unless the subject is dollars and cents
Their artificial faces
Tend to gleam in certain places
With dollar sign expressions leaving traces
And it's Society's Claim To Fame
Rustled in the bustle
Of anonymous delights of shame
And their indignant, malignant schemes
Muffled in the ruffle
Of diversified delinquent dreams
And those country club clippers
With their high-heeled slippers
Masturbate in corner dreams of a stripper
With their pockets full of bread
They seem to empty out their heads
On a three time losing thoroughbred
Then their sense of pride
Seems to lend a tip
For a little night companionship
So he bribes the 1ocal pimp
To say he's very well equipped
And pays for arthritic harelip
Then with a fistful of fusion
They seem disillusioned
With confusion abusing their minds
So they take to the death
Of an alcoholic's breath
Cry out, 'Oh my God, what is left?'
Their propane peril
0f purgatory prayers
And habitual rituals of strife
End in sheer fantasy
No a dead man can't see
That death ain't the answer for life
And it's Society's Claim To Fame
Rustled in the Bustle
Of anonymous delights of shame
And their indignant, malignant schemes
Muffled in the ruffle
Of diversified delinquent dreams
And their claim to fame
Ain't no sinister shame
When their pants hang down around their knees
All those high-strung bitches
With their double knit stitches
Got their noses hung up in the breeze
Their sacred ambition
Is to pay their offspring's tuition
Rear them up as cheating politicians
Give them a name
Yet accept no blame
For their insane total-drained condition
Extending their pretending
While defending their descending
And bending all the wrongs and rights
Their progressive digestive system
Claims over-possessive
While breaking all the laws in sight
And all those troubadours
With receding pompadours
Who ejaculate in mouths of whores
Seem to get off by perversion
While they cast a diversion
Camouflaged with their faces on the floor
And it's Society's Claim To Fame
Rustled in the bustle
Of anonymous delights of shame
And their indignant, malignant schemes
Muffled in the ruffle
Of diversified delinquent dreams
Written and Copyright by
Buffalo Sun
S. R. O. Music Publishing, Co.
Of societies system
Seems nothing but a peerless plight
Indulging in caviar
And drooling upon new cars
Getting some ass on Friday night
With their one night honeymoon
And overfilled credit card balloon
They seem to knock-up with over-due respect
It's their way of saying
My dues I ain't paying
'Til1 you give me a bonus check
Domestic influenced heads
Sit upon affluent beds
And pray to their Gods for more bread
When they've drunk all the wine
And they're tired of crying
They congregate to another bed
Their superficial nonsense
Let's them rap on with no sense
Unless the subject is dollars and cents
Their artificial faces
Tend to gleam in certain places
With dollar sign expressions leaving traces
And it's Society's Claim To Fame
Rustled in the bustle
Of anonymous delights of shame
And their indignant, malignant schemes
Muffled in the ruffle
Of diversified delinquent dreams
And those country club clippers
With their high-heeled slippers
Masturbate in corner dreams of a stripper
With their pockets full of bread
They seem to empty out their heads
On a three time losing thoroughbred
Then their sense of pride
Seems to lend a tip
For a little night companionship
So he bribes the 1ocal pimp
To say he's very well equipped
And pays for arthritic harelip
Then with a fistful of fusion
They seem disillusioned
With confusion abusing their minds
So they take to the death
Of an alcoholic's breath
Cry out, 'Oh my God, what is left?'
Their propane peril
0f purgatory prayers
And habitual rituals of strife
End in sheer fantasy
No a dead man can't see
That death ain't the answer for life
And it's Society's Claim To Fame
Rustled in the Bustle
Of anonymous delights of shame
And their indignant, malignant schemes
Muffled in the ruffle
Of diversified delinquent dreams
And their claim to fame
Ain't no sinister shame
When their pants hang down around their knees
All those high-strung bitches
With their double knit stitches
Got their noses hung up in the breeze
Their sacred ambition
Is to pay their offspring's tuition
Rear them up as cheating politicians
Give them a name
Yet accept no blame
For their insane total-drained condition
Extending their pretending
While defending their descending
And bending all the wrongs and rights
Their progressive digestive system
Claims over-possessive
While breaking all the laws in sight
And all those troubadours
With receding pompadours
Who ejaculate in mouths of whores
Seem to get off by perversion
While they cast a diversion
Camouflaged with their faces on the floor
And it's Society's Claim To Fame
Rustled in the bustle
Of anonymous delights of shame
And their indignant, malignant schemes
Muffled in the ruffle
Of diversified delinquent dreams
Written and Copyright by
Buffalo Sun
S. R. O. Music Publishing, Co.