lyrics and music by Kool Keith, a.k.a. Dr. Dooom
|
Additional lyrics by Jackie Jasper
|
|
Jackie, you keep them rollers in ya hair with that plastic all on ya head, huh
|
Man, Hey, Keith, who did ya gerry curls, man, look good
|
I seen ya¡¯ll this mornin on ¡®Cops,¡¯ man, they had ya¡¯ll pictures
|
and all ya profiles and everything, ya¡¯ll should stay low.
|
Gene called.
|
He need five dollas.
|
|
(Dr. Dooom)
|
Ultimate focus behind ya neck can¡¯t reflex with text on your lyrical index
|
Stop the masses rotate the fastest
|
Afro gerry curl world, get ignited re-invited on your main sources like the
|
Enforcers
|
Sub-machines spray your Liberace pianos
|
Free-style ambulances ring out your new dances
|
While ya¡¯ll can¡¯t rap we took your ampex, we have protective custody
|
Got your face disgustin¡¯ me
|
Wit¡¯ animal-like instincts I left a dead gorilla in the skatin¡¯ rink
|
Penetrated your Gap jeans with Black & Decker machines
|
Alternate your Scullies, catch dead rats in Saran Wrap
|
Put used diapers on your windshield wipers
|
Make you eat your own feces, ?sell yourleardrumbelices?
|
Pull out your colon leave your glands swollen
|
Uncircumcised between your mom¡¯s thighs
|
That¡¯s right, wit a face like Michael Myers
|
I clip the ears off your body guards with some bloody pliers
|
Bound to eat a German Shepard in the Mohave Desert
|
While ya¡¯ll talk gangsta I push body carts in shopping carts
|
Leave wigs on streets on Melrose so coroners can smell those
|
Arms for three days, with three legs in the back seat ya¡¯ll get the back heat?
|
With the police department scared to look at my apartment
|
Three weeks ago I dumped a bag of legs with beer kegs
|
Went to Ralph¡¯s and bought a six pack and some eggs
|
Seen my face in the paper wit a beard, went home and shaved
|
Took out ya bodies in the pickup truck back to the grave
|
Drinkin¡¯ Yoo-Hoos and doughnuts, ya¡¯ll punks think I¡¯m so nuts
|
Walkin¡¯ in hospital roooms like the black Dr. Dooom
|
Push you in the wheelchair out the window down the steps like Iancide(sic.)
|
You run and hide
|
Handicap wit no maps I¡¯m after you throw gas at you.
|
(The projects called the cops)
|
|
|
The F.B.I. got our fingerprints
|
Heavy big weights, we move in alternate states
|
(The projects called the cops.)
|
(Muthafucka')
|
|
|
(Jackie Jasper)
|
Jackie Jasper wit illegal drugs, sell for the thugs:
|
A bag of penises and twenty butt plugs, Persian rugs
|
Wit dead bodies on it, call Colombo, who dunnit, solve it
|
And I¡¯ll revolve it
|
And hold it, to the war to the hogs to the dogs?
|
A vagina with bugs, rubs, cubs, getting fellatio
|
Ratio fa sho¡¯. Positive why I die I live comatose tomato juice and
|
Cherry Ho¡¯s and toast
|
Santa Barbara at the Barbie coast most?
|
Chicks licks black holes French expose
|
Wastin¡¯ my children on her clothes that went up her nose, suppose?
|
I penetrated ya neck wit a Bic pen
|
Wit a belt around my waist like Bookmen?
|
Don¡¯t ask my neighbors, bodies dead, sixty-nine flavors, behaviors
|
Smokin¡¯ glass wit coleslaw hangin¡¯ out ya ass
|
Take a blast, I¡¯m travelin¡¯ fast, pass a nymphomaniac
|
Diggin¡¯ up corpse I¡¯m a necrophiliac getting my chick back
|
In an up-smack
|
Had that head bobbin,¡¯ joggin,¡¯ cyclin,¡¯ recyclin.¡¯
|
Connivin,¡¯ arrivin,¡¯ hearse drivin¡¯ it¡¯s even.
|
Seven heads, ten horns, believing. Evil demon
|
As Stella Steven retreatin¡¯ you¡¯re beatin¡¯
|
Eatin¡¯ dead puss. Sardine can smell from here to hell.
|
A gladiator wit tights under disco lights.
|
Blowin¡¯ a harmonica, yo, in Santa Monica in a Honda
|
Name dazzle night fall the press cross dressed your name Rhonda?
|
Call Macero? Call Dan-O, call Cello?
|
Five-O rollin¡¯ in a Pinto from Ohio, Toledo, down to San Pedro
|
Believe me, ho, I sold Curtis the blow.
|
|
The F.B.I. got our fingerprints
|
Heavy big weights, we move to alternate states
|
(The projects called the cops)
|
|
(Book em¡¯)
|
|
-----------------
|
Call the Cops
|
| Dr. Dooom |