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You enter, step in the room, four, five
|
My over compressed thoughts and ways make you get live
|
You are the patient, and I, your black doctor,
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Medical bills, insurance, cash in the ceiling.
|
Dioxalyn fingerprints here ever since
|
I got my white suit pressed, out the cleaners,
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X-Ray shades, with hard shoes and some razor blades
|
Who's the brother that's sick, and needs the operation?
|
Bullets removed from your head, grand central station
|
I gotta cut off your ear, first behind your neck
|
Rip out the stomach, and open rectum's to dissect
|
Shine the light, inside, roaches crawling in your throat
|
I have no tools, my hammer's done, my drill is broked
|
|
I'm the doctor,
|
You wait on the waiting list,
|
Patients been here since this morning I dismiss.
|
*scratched* 멦his is Octagon?(repeat twice.)
|
|
Watching people vomit green, my po-lig is lizard pills
|
My office in Berbick, I had the bodies in Beverley Hills.
|
Seeking Kimbles and bits, a girl with small tits
|
Talking to herself, her dog, and having rabid fits
|
Green fly soup in on the way from the kitchen, troop
|
Looking at T.B tuberculous on the window post
|
Ten dead dogs, a brown fox in the comatose
|
With no reps, I put more needles in they kneecaps
|
Some primitive screws, and my, yes and perhaps
|
A little sprinkle of Clorox, in their vocal box
|
Some Pepto-Bismol, Pepsi-Cola, pack of Pop Rocks
|
Mix it all together with bugs, to change the weather,
|
You be coughing blue, with eyes like Mr. Magoo
|
Straight up cartoon, you're bound to fall out real soon.
|
|
(Chorus)
|
|
As you come in the bright, you ride the orange ambulance
|
Look at widows and pell see the mental patients dance
|
Doin six and seven, steps ladies yells dance
|
Upside downside with walls flyin?through the hall/whore
|
Mr. Reeves/Mysteries with yellow bees they fly, sting your face
|
You out there bumps, caught up with a acne case
|
Plastic surgery, your lawyer now refer to me
|
Giving you sketches, exquisive pictures of the gill man
|
What's the matter, are you happy? Na you're ill man
|
Standin?back, you choose a ticket,
|
My spiritual laws of vitamins will turn your face wicked
|
You're invited to ride the glide to your homicide
|
|
(Chorus)
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Waiting List
|
| Dr. Octagon |
