MF DOOM, Megalon, Tommy Gunn - The Finest lyrics

The, the finest
As the life cycle goes on (Goes on)
And you learn to hold on (Hold on)
To things like the mic (The mic)
And you learn to appreciate who's the nicest
On said device, but who is (The finest)

Tommy Tashuma, too much drama
Blind behind the rumor
Time and time and time, my mind
I'm trying to find a tumor
Tommy Tashuma, no time for humor
As soon as one of ya' men's dead in Hempstead
You trying to find Pumas sooner the better
Even knitted a sweater already
Keep your leather
We comin' through the brutal weather
We ready to do whatever
Yo, DOOM, you with it? You
Know it like a poet, my brother
Hey, Gunn, you wit it? Whatever (The finest)



I know about going paid to
Broke to next day well-off
To bust a shell off
To dick-riders: "Get the hell off"
Made a call to a client
He must've had his cell off a show-off
He has the same bike Puff fell off
I tell off the bat
From science to pure facts
Which niggas is wack 'til
They last two tracks matter fact
Y'all could wait for the rep to tell
The tall tale how he escaped from
Out the depths of hell

When die, he gon' die like a soldier die
Holding a swollen eye
Drinking Olde Gold, smoking a stog
Watching po-po patrol the beach
Blowing my high, rolling by when Gunn die
He gon' try to preach the streets
Then go to the sky

Yup! That hold water
Like drizzle in a paper cup
This one etched in stone
The chisel with the paper up
I need a cut: a taper-up, edge-up
Niggas can't measure up
I'm here to get the treasure up

Hands up, hold 'em high, do
Or die, he got heat, no surprise
Stop the beat, close your eyes, got the weed
Rolling lye not sweet so no demise
All the guys drops seeds to multiply
Whatever the prophecies hold to lie
(Let's go)

He bled my mother, my father
But can't bleed me oD, ghetto misery
He bled my brother, my sister
But can't bleed me a OG, ghetto misery
Bled my mother, my father, but can't bleed me
SciFly, whole style stuck up
Used to talk to myself, I told him
"Shut the fuck up!"
Buckle up, 'cause it's about to be rough
He said, "Keep talking that shit
You 'bout to be snuffed"
Then we squashed it
I let em know: "Watch it -
We only met a time to join
These rhymers in the mosh pit"
Gosh, it feels great just
To increase the chance
For a pussy nigga face to hit the dance floor

I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock
What? Now it's all good business
And so this bitch is locked up
On the dance floor, you got knocked out
Your bitch got knocked up
Babyface, they can you, brand you
Brand new machete
Damn, I just shook your hand
And can't stand you already
Can't stand you, understand you deadly
But my hammer's like a band, my man
It's Brand New and Heavy
Yo' DOOM, you ready? yeah! Yo, Gunn
You with it? Whatever

Come on stay
I wrote this rhyme on my born day
Remind me of the same style I flipped on Hey!
Yikes! Who can fuck with the likes
Of one such who scores
Touchdown and spikes mics?
Metal grill, with many styles, better still
Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel
And deal, and run rings around rhymers
And run rings like number
Runners whose old-timers

Shorty in the all black
She think she all that
I called her, she said, "Don't call back!"
She called me, now what you call that?
Let's go back, I sold crack
Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, toke that
Fuck! Where that ho at? Where that dough at?

Suffering succotash! This hooker broke into
His last buck of cash
He love her, motherfuck her ass
Metal feet dented your car fender
My agenda up in the basement
Party tipping the bartender
Is unbeknownst to you - who
Could get body blown?
MF like Mike Fran Corleone
And got it sown, maricon
Like to know what you staring at?
An invisible cat
Who pull off disappearing act
Raised by a pack a wild womens like Sweetback
Front? I'ma be back like brothers
In the street act surrounded by a bunch a
Bad bitches like Sweetback fuck with me
I'll be back like niggas in the streets act
(Streets act)

Of black misery the finest