intro - (he's a shady character, whats his name?
ah wait a minute , ive got his card.
o yes! here it is, DOOM......... i see.)
.... it aint nuttin like,.. hip hop music,...
it aint nuttin like a fistfull a cash or a bliss fulla the hash
that twist like a mustache, from end to end, spread it like a rash
from talking through your walkman or at your disco bash.
gimme the timbs rumple stiltskin brown,
a metal face mask with a built in frown
a mic to tilt down, a hundred thousand pounds
and see how kilt sound like spilt milk clown.
cocoa b***er on very ashy day fam,
with Ray-Bans out on the islands of Cayman
or i'll break it down for the layman,
bande soule for that Saint Tropez.. tannnn,
a can a ole gold too cold to hold, slow ya roll
keep on moving like Soul II Soul, hold the dough
like a fool who stole pity y'all
from tryna go up against city hall t***y bar.
the black mic is like a red violin
ok, everybody back to the lab, try again
b***** rap game like leviathan,
leave a bad taste, killin my high like niacin.
stop kiddin middlemen need Ritalin
hit me with the full tin of gin and im a kid again.
keep the bong lightin straight through the song writin,
the Supervillain AKA the thong bitin, thats inviting all
to the ricitin thats dope and raw,
hoping all yall come in peace and its open bar,
tear the roof off this b**ba rasclaat,
by the end of the night spazz like shazbot.
spilt a shot made the pen lines runny
a ill plot thats ten times Ben Stien money.... funny.
how he rips the scripts with a straight face
with more rhymes than is lines in ya database
placing rappers in endangerment, who's reckless
with this food for thought sorta like breakfast
you could mark it off as wreck on the checklist
wear gold fronts, can't afford no necklace
s***, that there, could go to help them daycares,
somebody say yeahh.. (yeahhh!)
pay ya fares,... give the Herbalizers his shares
and y'all could pay DOOM in beers.. Cheers!...
ah wait a minute , ive got his card.
o yes! here it is, DOOM......... i see.)
.... it aint nuttin like,.. hip hop music,...
it aint nuttin like a fistfull a cash or a bliss fulla the hash
that twist like a mustache, from end to end, spread it like a rash
from talking through your walkman or at your disco bash.
gimme the timbs rumple stiltskin brown,
a metal face mask with a built in frown
a mic to tilt down, a hundred thousand pounds
and see how kilt sound like spilt milk clown.
cocoa b***er on very ashy day fam,
with Ray-Bans out on the islands of Cayman
or i'll break it down for the layman,
bande soule for that Saint Tropez.. tannnn,
a can a ole gold too cold to hold, slow ya roll
keep on moving like Soul II Soul, hold the dough
like a fool who stole pity y'all
from tryna go up against city hall t***y bar.
the black mic is like a red violin
ok, everybody back to the lab, try again
b***** rap game like leviathan,
leave a bad taste, killin my high like niacin.
stop kiddin middlemen need Ritalin
hit me with the full tin of gin and im a kid again.
keep the bong lightin straight through the song writin,
the Supervillain AKA the thong bitin, thats inviting all
to the ricitin thats dope and raw,
hoping all yall come in peace and its open bar,
tear the roof off this b**ba rasclaat,
by the end of the night spazz like shazbot.
spilt a shot made the pen lines runny
a ill plot thats ten times Ben Stien money.... funny.
how he rips the scripts with a straight face
with more rhymes than is lines in ya database
placing rappers in endangerment, who's reckless
with this food for thought sorta like breakfast
you could mark it off as wreck on the checklist
wear gold fronts, can't afford no necklace
s***, that there, could go to help them daycares,
somebody say yeahh.. (yeahhh!)
pay ya fares,... give the Herbalizers his shares
and y'all could pay DOOM in beers.. Cheers!...