Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song No Names, artist - Dangerdoom. Album song The Mouse & The Mask, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.05.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Metalface
Song language: English
No Names |
Well, Debbie thinks this is all about her biological clock |
And I |
She stopped screaming long enough to tell you that? |
Huh? |
No no no no, no, the other Debbie |
Debbie the teacher |
Oh, you mean — Black Debbie! |
Whoa whoa whoa whoa, why is she «Black» Debbie? |
No, not in a bad way |
It’s just to tell them apart because she’s, black! |
True—DOOM rolled on through with a whole crew |
That stole on you for holding old brew, who told you? |
Even if it’s crap, mind your own business |
They raps ain’t got no gift like a lonely Christmas |
Real phony with beats that’s hardly fresh |
How they manage to deal is anybody’s guess |
Yours is as good as mine, she’s sure fine |
From the hood where you squeeze your nine off the free cheese line |
All you saw was a do a bee’s line |
To where she stood and sipped the Nehi Grape, the sweet kind |
Circle you, thicker by de-sign |
Be-hind swingin like bring it back, come rewind |
Uhh, excuse me boo |
She stuck out her tongue, it was purple number two |
FDA approved played it smoother than a doo rag |
What a brother gotta do to get a taste a some of you? |
Bagged, and he don’t mean coach |
Then she saw the mask, acted like she seen a roach |
The mirror shine reflect colors like your CD’s |
Show love to others, we all brothers like the Bee Gees |
All except the broads and you |
Hold your applause, they break God’s laws and who pays? |
The taxpayer that’s who |
Catch a rapper by his toe and smack off his tattoos |
That’s gonna leave a bruise |
Leave 'em grievin blues like believin in evening news |
They must be eatin glue |
Heave it all back and we even Steven Sue |
Sprinkle lyrics like seasoning beef stew |
And sneezin all in it after breathin in the flu |
Get a clue, his reasoning is askew |
As to all the feverin and heavin up goo |
Either that or, dude |
Leave your girl around this man whore and she’s too screwed |
Just in case she’s in a «what you wanna do» mood |
Bring your plate to the Metal Face and get your food chewed |
Tastes like chicken |
He wastes no time like the bassline kickin in |
Or like a lace eye with you through thick and thin |
Raw humor, face pie to a frickin chin |
New York’n, a hell of a finer town |
Choose your words wisely from the Boogie Down to Chinatown |
Or be found with a hole in your designer gown |
In the role of public opinion, it earned a minor frown |
If you think you’re slick, you might can whisper, uh |
As a few good men set sights to link with your chick |
You have to find a new hen fight to drink your liq' |
Ten years later, see how Enzyte’ll shrink your, wallet |
As you wallow in a sorrow pit |
Cheers, is that your beer kid? |
Then swallow it |
Or get chased by the Sandman, on some Apollo |
Flow so weird, his own peers couldn’t follow it |
On the phone, he sounded like a real paid |
Then we met in person, he was three shades blacker |
That’s why he saved money over ball and chain dames |
We all the same, no callin names |
I’m as smart as him! |
What? |
I got Ph. D's in four scientific disciplines |
Really? |
(Why do you think they call me Dr. Quinn?) |
Um, I just thought that was a nickname |
You know like, Dr. Dre, Eastside! |