|
zuò cí : MF Doom |
|
. . . metalface doom. . . |
|
|
|
. . . operation doomsday. . . |
|
|
|
By the way, |
|
I read up on bad dreams |
|
bag up screams in fiftys |
|
be up on mad schemes |
|
that heat shop like jiffy-pop pop |
|
in a instant |
|
get smoked like winston |
|
ciggarettes |
|
ho' s get ripped off like nicorette |
|
patch |
|
in real life |
|
the real trife scene |
|
might snatch ya life like a-ssault machine |
|
rifle |
|
dead up setup like bull-fight |
|
be blunted how we like |
|
couldnt white or in full flight |
|
the unemotional |
|
call me anti-social |
|
on the run off the gun |
|
death tally commercial |
|
death valley? |
|
is like rehearsal to the streets |
|
to my peeps |
|
G. M. |
|
MF on the beat |
|
rhymes |
|
is chosen like the weapons of war |
|
so keep from steppin on my floor |
|
or delivery |
|
front door |
|
I bring it to ya' ll motherfuckers |
|
master yours |
|
my disaster cause- |
|
hell- |
|
and gas drawls |
|
the super villain- |
|
cooler than a million |
|
i be chillin |
|
still quick to slice squares like sicilian |
|
dont make me have to hurt them feelins |
|
ill ruin you in the dirt that i be doin in my dealins |
|
sendin spirits through the ceilin' - |
|
chrome peelin' - |
|
dome blown |
|
within the comforts of your own home |
|
grown big |
|
wheelin' and high rollin' |
|
I hold the lye- |
|
it keeps the sty on my eye swollen'. . . |
|
|
|
holdin, |
|
and? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? , |
|
known as massive-versatile, |
|
Id like to big-em-up monster-isle. . . |
|
|
|
uummm, |
|
yeah. . . |
|
|
|
I saw you in hell wit dem gas drawls. . . |
|
|
|
To my brother Subroc- |
|
and black ju I crack brew for- |
|
two more, three men, two up, |
|
I hit the brew up like- |
|
nobody knoowwss. . . |
|
how X the unseen feels |
|
when givin crews a brush with death like between meals |
|
two times a day |
|
wit brothers thats tight like a noose |
|
wit more rhymes in use than doctor seuss |
|
or motherfuckin' mother goose |
|
X is da suspicious flirter |
|
who every hooker hearda' |
|
next to malicious murda' |
|
a track type vicious |
|
fulfillin the pipe wishes |
|
? ? ? ? ? ? may be legal |
|
minus the baby eagle |
|
any given summers eve- |
|
dont breathe |
|
sixteen shots i do believe- |
|
and one up the sleeve. . . |
|
master of the O |
|
who predict ya last pause- |
|
i told ya' ll |
|
hell and gas drawls- |
|
breakin- |
|
glass and plastic jaw- |
|
like federal drastic law |
|
fed up from fightin' secret war |
|
wit' them fantastic four- |
|
invisible bitch |
|
versus Doom wit' the metal face |
|
before I go to state |
|
the ho better settle case |
|
the flow is at pedal pace |
|
steady like tricycles |
|
beware all suckas is froze like icicles. . . |
|
bag ' em up |
|
and baggin' bitches like nickels |
|
cause I licked ' em where they tickle |
|
before I hit the clit though imma spit till I pronounce |
|
more hits than a ounce no doubt |
|
about ta bounce, |
|
X the unannounced- |
|
im out. . . |
|
|
|
and i like to give a shoutout, |
|
to the brother jet-jaguar. . . |
|
Megalon. . . |
|
and King Ghidra. . . |
|
|
|
I call this joint right here. . . |
|
Gas Drawls. . . |
|
In hell wit yours. . . |