Dr. Dooom - God of Rap lyrics

Dr dooom i'm here in the room!
You ever notice?
Hear the same guys talkin' the same stuff
Every year after year
They use the same concepts
They kick the same stuff
Just get monotonous, over and over

I'm the best at this
All you do is talk about cars
What you got on your wrist guest stars
Who you got on your list
Y'all still tryna come with blank words
Dudes with fish eggs
Memorisin' those useless verbs
From the suburbs
The city's heavy on your hype
You've got little kids fooled
With a blanket over your past career
You've got a publicist that put
You in a new move
Since when did rappers wear shoes?
Their long faces'll lose
They come through the stomach like noodles
And flush down the toilet like doodoos
You know the two crews?
You can't face your real father
'Cause you're too boudge
Sittin' up like a chick with a bad mood
I bless y'all
Step of the phantom and eat bad food
The world think y'all dope they high on coke
Kareem Abdul be a fool
He can't make this guy hook right now
Get out the Maybach and show and prove
Chicks can't see these feces spinnin'
In the toilet stool
Flush the comp down to Hudson
Your girl wanna shake hands with the Kool

I'm the god of rap the lord of music
(The man who brought Hip-Hop back to life)


Now I'm takin' analysts
You won't make the team
This general front office, me and MC Serch
The Indiana basic training camp
I'll make you work
You'll get cut if you come
With some hard bottle shoes
And a buttoned up shirt
I'll make you a merchandise, souvenir clerk
All their money up
Many suckin' the balls of Bert
My urine stain the side of your cheekbone
You're just a circus act
That sell off ringtones
Let me re-up and scoop somethin'
That look like chocolate on
Them ice cream cones
The chemical benzene clean off your bones
Low-braid a little bit
Take the cable vision out my phones
Take the thongs off of Carmen Jones
Walk in the bank behind your girl
For six hundred billion bank loans


Now it's a sexy thing with you
Dodgin' the Hopster
With bodies under the house like Jimmy Hoffa
Kinky Brewster mobster
Before I go see Eddie and Norman, I chop ya
The snow machine comin' in the
Way and stop ya use you as a background
What'cha gonna do when I prop ya?
The grey car
Come out with the change attire jacket
Pop ya big rock bowled to come through
Your head and sock ya