| Yo, I plan to build a myself a facility before I’m 40
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| a molecular archceogenetic laboratory
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| that can analyze complex poetry data for me even if it was recorded poorly, how extraordinary
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| I frog leap over awful beats
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| then I separate rappers by the carbon-14s
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| to determine the age of anything ever made
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| regardless of how the outside surface has changed
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| I put a curse on your name, bombard your brain
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| with gamma x-rays till you burst into flames
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| with the scientifically quantifiable megalomaniacal
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| viable style, it’s like trying to ride a bull
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| let’s have a dictionary duel after school
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| check into me a nice Cedar Sinai room
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| so I can get sick as the flu, spittin the truth
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| if you ain’t got this album, you missing the proof
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| prepare for your doom my nuclear rocket plumes
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| glow against the pale background of the moon
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| toxic fumes spoil complete stocks of fruits, and foods
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| burning your flammable boxes and booms
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| got in the groove even though I’m not in the mood
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| motherfucker you didn’t win 'cause I can’t lose
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| give the fans the chance to choose, fuck you
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| who’s the illest, who’s it really up to rapping fire, you better run for the pacifier
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| tie you up and drown you in the saliva quagmire
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| till your oxygen expires and your lungs dry up
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| 'cause you said Bis ain’t dope, you a damn liar
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| disaster for hire over beats by pious
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| flow like the Tigris, Euphrates, with the Eye of the Tiger
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| in my iris, Canibus is a fighter
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| motherfucker, my greatgrandfather was Irish
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| let’s roll the dices, 'll break you like young Tyson
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| give me the mic man, I don’t need no hype man
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| put a thousand on me, put one on him
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| i tear off his limbs, throw him in, and tell him to swim
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| yo I soak that shit and coat that shit in soy sauce
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| tell the FCC boss, turn that noise off
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| call Detroit’s Mafia Boss
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| tell him yo, I got a job for you, I want you to bust his balls
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| Drop him off by Niagra Falls
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| write my name on a banana and put the banana between his jaws
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| nobody disrespects lyrical law
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| I’m the best there ever is and the best ever was
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| training like a grunt face down in the mud
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| with blood, sweat, and tears, sucking it up yo, you wonder where I am right now
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| I’m probably somewhere on the microphone fucking it up dead or alive, Canibus will live through the rhyme
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| to be the illest on the mic is a mission of mine
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| spittin’divine, you can’t get it twisted this time
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| vocal with a mirror to make sure my lips are aligned
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| Dr C, PHD graduated from UMG
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| bright as the LCD display on a new MP
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| prototype of a true MC
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| with 3d topography maps you can’t see
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| Butcher on Broad Street, wrapping CDs
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| in butcher paper, doing artwork with Sharpies
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| if you don’t like the quality, then talk to me what the fuck you on the website for you creep?
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| punching the keys, remember that sound
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| that’s exactly what it sounds like when i’m punching your teeth
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| kick a rap, bitch, if you’ve got the gumption to speak
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| stand next to me, i might put a lump in your meat
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| diss you and your man, double the beef
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| to tell you the truth, I thought your rebuttal was weak
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| round the outside, blah, blah, etcetra, etcetra
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| the body of my literature is bigger than South America
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| nigga look, this is all I gots to say
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| suck my P-H-D-I-C-K |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dr C PHD, artist - Canibus. Album song Miclub - The Curriculum, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп