Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Microwave Mayo, artist - MF DOOM. Date of issue: 22.03.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Microwave Mayo |
| Chain-smoking beedies 'til his brain’s broken completely |
| Get back on his feet, work out and eat some Wheaties |
| Greedy for the cheese, please, most couldn’t fathom |
| Had him in the cobra clutch, when he spat the mad hymn |
| Gems, collection of brrrats Timbs and hats |
| Had no time for the pitty-pat, I’ll give him that |
| The rhythm hit him back with a right hook |
| Shook it off, caught a shiner, thought it was an aight look |
| Depends on the shades |
| The end of days fades, pretenders lay |
| In dazes on stages, DOO-Malaise |
| Eat it up, microphone, microwave mayonnaise |
| His own way was strange but it matters not |
| Tuned into a frequency tone that shattered rock |
| Hold it down like Shatner do Spock |
| Rapper jocks need to put a sock in they chatterbox |
| The block got light of Vioxx stock |
| Folks gather round, it’s no joke like «Knock, knock» |
| It’s them, they came home to roost y’all |
| And watch 'em transform the game to the rules of foosball |
| She’s too small, any questions? |
| Him could squeeze blood from a penny in the recession |
| Keep guessing, it gets deeper than depression |
| The power of suggestion wake a sleeper, peep the lesson |
| Dig that beat |
| Ripped it with Metal Fingers and stomped it with big fat feet |
| And you know what they say, cut the hay |
| Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated, but today |
| It’s all grey, metallic with a ruby stone |
| Rude like the type of dude you could write a movie on |
| Hardcore porn, did his own stunts |
| Writ his own rhymes and split his own blunts |
| Once, in a while, every other minute |
| Eyes pop out, Popeye, heavy on the spinach |
| Steady on his business and ready with a ill pitch |
| Keeps a bad bilznitch like Denny Kucinilznich |
| No hitch, just a shit-load of spit and sneeze |
| Strictly G stacking up off a rack of hidden fees |
| Rap is like the gay club strip tease |
| With hippies on the yip saying «Hey bub, grip these» |
| They screaming for attention |
| Beaming at the mention of a scary demon convention |
| You could cut the tension with a switchblade |
| And serve it on the same plate of hors d’oeuvres a witch made |
| Filleted, persuaded the chambermaid |
| To bet her paycheck on a get-naked game of spades |
| Straight up, no chaser, no layaways |
| Caution, faint taste of microwave mayonnaise |
| Doom has taken over every continent |