Lyrics Dedicated Instrumental - MF DOOM

Dedicated Instrumental

«This goes out to you» — Sample from The Notorious B.I.G.
— «Kick In the Door»
When it come to war, there will be some casualties
Manhattan is the game of death, and cops are referees
I’m dwelling on my life like I’m Kevin from the Wonder Years
A lot of friends died, and I tried to hold back the tears
Fuck pouring beer—I give ‘em bloodshed
Instead ‘cause, so many died, I have to pour a keg
New York is hot under the collar.
It’s
So easy to die, but it’s hard to make a dollar
Screaming from the Desert is the Eagle—make it holler
Plus we got the street sweepers, so run in fear.
If
We can’t have no money, then the block is getting cleared
My family call me MF, that mean Mad Flows
You better buy my album ‘cause, yo, Grimm ain’t with no shows
Nah, kid.
I’ll be with a cutie in my house, and
Want me to do a show?
Then you’ll put up twenty thousand
(Word) Fuck promo.
Mad Flow only rhyme
For double-digit dough and two bottles of Mo
I really do think Earth is undercover Hell
‘Cause rain never drops, only blood and bullet shells
But yet and still, my fam remains strong
Life isn’t short, death is so fucking long
What would I do?
Where would I be?
Without my fucking crew AKA my family
Some passed away, now they’re living up above
But not even death can separate the love
Half the crew is black, the others are Hispanic
Showing unity and causing havoc on this planet
Some passed away, now they’re living up above
But not even death can separate the love
Friends from the cradle to the grave hoping for
Old age, but this stage of age never came, and, um
Where I’m from, niggas die young
But we all know real niggas never die.
Once
I mediate, breath in, release steam
Subconscious take control, quantum leap through my dreams.
I’ll put
My nine on the shelf and try to mediate and find myself
But, yo, I still can’t find me
Life’s a tape—stop, play, and just rewind me
Push record and let me cry.
I prayed
To God as a child, but, as a man, I only pray to die
Holograms of horror through headphones
A virtual reality, my brain is the dead zone
Rappers in my hemisphere, prepare—the end is near
The Reaper’s here to interfere, flip a nightmare like
They’re kis, chop dreams down to ounces
Feet to move the mommies, but the human head be bouncing
I’m living in a stress box, every day’s the same (What you?)
(Want, kid?) I want the money—fuck the fame
What would I do?
Where would I be?
Without my fucking crew AKA my family
Some passed away, now they’re living up above
But not even death can separate the love
Half the crew is black, the others are Hispanic
Showing unity and causing havoc on this planet
Some passed away, now they’re living up above
But not even death can separate the love
To all my niggas (Big Isaac).
Um (My nigga Spud), this is dedicated to,
dedicated to (To Al) all my motherfucking brothers in the streets (All the
brothers struggling).
This is dedicated to, dedicated to all my motherfucking
brothers in the streets.
(This is dedicated to) This is dedicated to,
(Dedicated to) dedicated to you, all my motherfucking brothers in the streets.
And I got one thing to say (You don’t stop): Mayor Giuliani (Giuliani Adolf),
you won’t step to Harlem when a brother’s slain, to ease a mother’s pain,
but you can make it to a Rangers game