Handjob, Blandjob, I Don’t Understand Job Songtext
von Garfunkel and Oates

Handjob, blandjob, I don't understand job
I got a problem and I can't contain it
I'll use my icky-sticky rhymes to help me explain it
Handy Js are like Stonehenge to me
Robert Stack can't even unsolve this mystery

I'm the messed up child of a baby boomer
I was in the gifted class but a total late bloomer
Now I got a secret to get off my chest
Went from kissing to sex but never learned the rest

In high school, I was in the marching band
Not learning what to do with my hand
While other girls were dripping like a Jackson Pollock
I blossomed later than Mayim Bialik

I'm investigating bones like Deschanel
Trying to make it stand up like Dave Chapelle
When I stare down the barrel of a semi-hard dick
I feel more singled out than Chris Hardwick


I studied Bach, Jacques Chirac, and Isaac Asimov
But I wasn't on the ski bus jerking people off
Wouldn't let you touch my chest like you're VapoRubbing Vicks in
Let alone deep throat your Tricky Dick Nixon

I wanna learn how to make your Watergates flow
I'm resigned like Spiro Agnew that I might never know
How to HJ your L.B. Johnson
Know less about dicks than Samantha Ronson

I should have explored New Frontiers like Wil Wheaton
But I was more conservative than Alex P. Keaton
I've fallen into crisis just like the Dow
I wanna give a handjob but I don't know how

Handjob, blandjob, I don't understand job
Do I spit, do I squeeze, do I ever touch the top?
How can I learn when you always make me stop?

Now I'm on a full-blown investigation
To unlock the secrets of ejaculation
I need a translator like I'm reading Balzac
To crack the Rosetta Stone over your ball sack

The top is the part that confuses me the most
It looks like a Silly Putty Pac-Man ghost
Sometimes it's jello jiggling, sometimes it's denser
But they all look like a Darth Vader Pez dispenser


Like Sam Jackson, I'm not as good with Shaft
When it's soft and flabby like President Taft
It's like a deep south queen that you wanna make straight
Will I make it upright if I move it like a Shake Weight?

Move it like a Shake Weight
Move it like a Shake Weight

Now I'm pumping like breaks that aren't anti-lock
Trying not to go Psycho on your Alfred Hitchcock
I go a little faster and then I retard
It's like a hamster that you don't wanna squeeze too hard

I'm working my hand 'til it gets arthritis
I'll be holdin' 'til I get the Golden Touch of Midas
"I think, therefore I am"; getting my Descartes on
'Til I fully comprehend your Marcia Gay Hard-on

But the biggest, throbbing question of all's
Seriously, what do you do with the balls?
Do I roll 'em like dice, do I mold them like clay
Do I tickle them like Elmo, or throw 'em like a part-ay?

Do I move 'em all around or cup it slow?
They're the the two bald critic puppets from the Muppets show
Just sitting there cranky and superfluous
How 'bout I don't touch them unless you insist?

Handjob, blandjob, I don't understand job
Do I spit, do I squeeze, do I ever touch the top?
How can I learn when you always make me stop?
How can I learn when you always make me stop?