Текст песни MF Doom - Beef Rapp
MF Doom - Beef Rapp слова песни
[MF Doom]Beef rapCould lead to gettin teeth cappedOr even a wreath for mom dukes on some grief crapI suggest ya change ya dietIt can lead ta high blood pressure if ya fry itOr even a stroke, heart attack, heart diseaseIt ain`t no startin back once arteries start ta squeezeTake the easy way out phony, until thenThey know they wouldn`t be talkin that bologna in the bullpenSo disgustin, pardon self as I discuss thisThey talk a wealth of shit and they ain`t never seen the justiceBust this, like a cold milk from out the toiletTwo batteries some Brillo and some foil, he`a boil itHe be better off on PC gluedAnd it`s a feud so don`t be in no TV moodEvery week it`s mystery meat, seaweed stewed [food, we need food!]He wears a mask just to cover the raw fleshA rather ugly brother with flows that`s gorgeousDrop dead joints hit the whips like bird shitThey need it like a hole in they head or a third titHer bra smell, his card say: aw hellBarred from all bars and kicked out the Carvel`Keep a cooker where the jar fellAnd keep a cheap hooker that`s off the hook like Ma BellTop bleeding, maybe fella took the loaded rod gearsStop feeding babies colored sugar-coated lard squaresThe odd pairs swears and God fearsEven when it`s rotten, we`ve gotten through the hard yearsI wrote this note around New Year`sOff a couple a shots and a few beers, but who cares?Enough about me, it`s about the beatsNot about the streets and who food he about ta eatA rhymin cannibal who`s dressed to kill, it`s cynicalWhether is it animal, vegetable, or mineralIt`s a miracle how he get so lyricalAnd proceed to move the crowd like a old Negro spiritualFor a mil` do a commercial for Mello YelloTell `em devil`s hell no, sell y`all own JelloWe hollow krills, she swallow pillsHe follow flea collar three dollar billsAnd squeal for halal veal, in y`all appealDig the real, it`s how the big ballers dealTwirl a L after every meal [FOOD]What upTo all rappers shut up with ya shuttin upAnd keep your shirt on, at least a button upYuck, is they rhymers or strippin males?Outta work jerks since they shut down ChippendalesThey chippin nails, Doom... jippin scalesLet alone the pre-orders that`s counted off shippin salesThis one goes out to all my peoples skippin bailDippin jail, whippin tail, and sippin aleLight the doobie til it glow like a rubyAfter which they couldn`t find the Villain like ScoobyHe`s in the lab on some old Buddha Monk shitOverproof drunk shit, and who`da thunk it?Punk try an ask why ours be betterIt could be the iron mask or the Cosby sweaterYes, you, who`s screwed by the dude on the CD, nude! [we need food!]