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Yeah..
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You motherfuckers oughta let me go and finish this motherfuckin album
|
Dr. Dooom..
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Name of this track is called "I Don't Want the Motherfuckin Chorus"
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Whatever all the arrangements are we gon' go through
|
Fuck all the laws..
|
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What the fuck was in your mind when you rapped on that track?
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Who posessed you to do that? Who programmed - that shit sound wack
|
Unplug your mic
|
You motherfuckers rap under a bunch of fuckin hype
|
Programmed by the company, makin somethin cheap
|
Vocals sound like a nigga with no dough and a promo;
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makin asses out of yourselves, tryin to rap solo
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Suck my dick when you see me; avoid because you wanna be me
|
Y'all niggaz write like slouches puffin blunts on studio couches
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What's up you fuckin amateur?
|
Your engineer'll cue in your bullshit cadence
|
That shit sounds simple; look at this nigga rhymin to hisself
|
Wack as fuck, smell like shit for one buck
|
Big crews don't want it -- y'all get it worse
|
Which one of y'all motherfuckers is waitin for the mic first?
|
I hope your bitch is in the audience
|
Your wife too, that's your fanbase -- plus your DJ's in the place
|
I'm about to boo you, let it be fair; when you come off-stage
|
ninety percent of the people that came on your guest list
|
ain't gon' be there
|
A big dissapointment when I rub your asshole with a verbal ointment
|
Rappers actin hard, nervous in the dressin room
|
with a security guard
|
Groupies standin round with they fuckin face frowned
|
Lookin like fuckin Homey the Clown
|
Put that Spring Water down man, you ain't sweatin
|
You motherfuckers did a ten minute weak show and you jettin;
|
your fans are mad - your performance was garbage bag
|
Look at these videotapes
|
Walkin back and forth grabbin your nuts like the Planet of the Apes
|
Supervise it, criticize it, y'all don't realize it
|
where the real guys at
|
Who's administrating your budget when you takin
|
that high picture for Right On with your ballroom light on
|
You know the night is kind of special like Lauryn bro
|
when I escort you to your car, you breakout bastards
|
Leave the premises and reminisce on your rookie season
|
after you first started
|
You try to work hard and you never paid no dues
|
like Cold Crush and Afrika Bambaata
|
You wack nigga, tryin to act large in the video in Nevada
|
You fuckin pink maggot; I'll take your mic, you can't have it
|
You niggaz be runnin around with ears open like fuckin bunny rabbits
|
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That's right, Dr. Dooom
|
All you motherfuckers around the world sittin in studios with your boys
|
Hypin your shit up
|
Motherfuckers don't wanna tell you that your shit is wack
|
because they all yes men
|
Sittin around, carryin your roadie cases
|
Bein your fuckin cheerleaders
|
I'ma tell you straight, look in the fuckin mirror, you wack
|
That shit don't sound right, your mixdown ain't right
|
Your vocals are too low.. your fuckin cadence is off
|
Stage show's weak.. fuck you!
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|
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-----------------
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No Chorus
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| Dr. Dooom |
