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aesop rock - bold lyrics

[hook: aesop rock]
you don’t wanna be some old dude
shaking a fist at the new bold youth
you were the new bold youth, now you some old dude
you don’t wanna be some old dude
wagging a finger at the new bold youth
you were the new bold youth, now you some old dude

[verse 1: aesop rock]
and i know you know i’m sucker proof
mediate the over under, leaning over onion soup
and soda… armchairs, underoos
camera’s on the entrances, tv’s on the bugaloos
speaking of, what’s up with you’s? y’all tried chilling?
no, whole time bow tie spinning, like “hzzzzzz…”
cough cough sputter, not to worry, there will always be another
i wanna say i nurtured all you little green settlings
but these lapses get the guillotine snapping, it’s distracting
all-righty, play me what bumps
yuck, i’m getting too old for this, shucks
aes stay gold for this much
gray and mostly t-ts up
old man winter, eyes on the prize
give the lowest of lives, the highest of fives
’cause…

[hook]

[verse 2: rob sonic]
w-ssup breezy, it’s the brush fire
put vicks on my chest like i’m russ meyer
i love breyers, but i’m dumb tired
when they say “based,” i say “safe” like an umpire
they say waders are lame with the brush binder
daryl hall hair is bald as a bus tire
janitorial and we’re sore when his funk fibres
start moving pip-squeaks like i’m keith on a drum riser
up in the club krumpin’ – what up shorty?
“yo, what are you, like 40?”
that’s a whole other story with rips in the root page
and if age is just a number it’s bugging it’s room mates
like dudes, keep it down you’re driving me bruce wayne
and i’m three floors down and still hearing your 2chainz
oh that’s one direction well regardless dude
it’s not nas getting live at the barbecue
so tomorrow dude just keep the drama calm
because it’s not funny when you call me big papa john

[hook]

[verse 3: busdriver]
i am not here at the raise a roof or parallax for feral cats
i’m in the same age group as darryl mac
ask these slender teens if the denture cream is in stock
engendered of remembered dreams in my inbox
of [???] denim jeans or gwendoline’s like, “pick rocks”
now my bum knee and limbs pop like rimshots
and twenty-something’s hard to compromise movie tropes
while my aftershave is some h0m-genized uzi smoke
so how can i optimize the booty stroke
while my sole possesion is a fossilized dookey rope
i mean i got etchings in my worry lines
but how the dream rings off the the precipice of thirty-nine
it’s depressing, some pre-dating toe tags
spell checking in a suicide note drafts
y’all pull vintage tees out of them tote bags
i got a vintage me that is visibly cro-mag

- aesop rock lyrics

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