Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Doomsday, artist - MF DOOM. Date of issue: 16.04.2007
Song language: English
Doomsday |
| Mic check… |
| Come through, dig the sound! |
| Crowd around! |
| I used to cop a lot |
| But never copped no drop |
| Hold mics like pony tails, tight, in Stop and stick around |
| Come through and dig the sound |
| Of the fly brown six-o sicko psycho who throws his dick around |
| Bound to go three-plat |
| Came to destroy rap |
| It’s a intricate plot of a b-boy strap |
| cats get kidnapped |
| Then release a statement to the press — let the rest know who did that |
| Metal Face terrorists claim responsibility |
| Broken household name usually said in hostility |
| Um… what… MF, you silly |
| I’d like to take Mens to the End for two milli' |
| Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo! |
| That’s a audio daily double |
| Rappers need to fall off just to save me the trouble, yo Watch your own back |
| Came in and go out alone, black |
| Stay in the zone — turn H2O to Cognac |
| On Doomsday! |
| Ever since the womb ‘til I’m back where my brother went |
| That’s what my tomb will say |
| Right above my government, Doom will lay |
| Either unmarked or engraved, hey, who’s to say? |
| I wrote this one in B.C. |
| D.C. O-section |
| If you don’t believe me, go get bagged and check then |
| Cell number 17, up under the top bunk |
| I say this not to be mean, wish bad luck or pop junk |
| Pop the trunk on See-Cipher-Punk, leave him left scraped |
| God forbid, if there ain’t no escape, blame MF tape |
| Definition super-villain: a killer who love children |
| One who is well-skilled in destruction, as well as building |
| While Sidney Sheldon teaches the trife to be trifer |
| I’m trading science fiction with my man the live lifer |
| A pied piper holler a rhyme, a dollar and a dime |
| Do his thing, ring around the white collar crime |
| Get out my face, askin'‘bout my case, need toothpaste |
| Fresher mint, monkey-style nigga get |
| And dope fiends still in they teens, shook niggas turn witness |
| Real mens mind their own business |
| That’s the difference between sissy-pissy rappers that’s double-dutch |
| How come I hold the microphone double-clutch |
| C.O.'s make rounds, never have ‘ox found |
| On shakedown, lock-down, wet dreams of Fox’Brown |
| On Doomsday! |
| Ever since the womb ‘til I’m back where my brother went |
| That’s what my tomb will say |
| Right above my government, Doom will lay |
| Either unmarked or engraved, hey, who’s to say? |
| Doomsday |
| Every since the womb ‘til I’m back to the essence |
| Read it off the tomb |
| Either engraved or unmarked grave, who’s to say? |
| Pass the mic like Pass the peas like they used to say |
| Some M-er F-ers don’t like how Sally walk |
| I’ll tell y’all fools it’s hella cool how ladies from Cali talk |
| Never let her interfere with the Yeti ghetto slang |
| Nicknames .metal fang |
| Known amongst hoes for the bang-bang |
| Known amongst foes for flow with no talking orangutangs |
| Only gin and Tang |
| Guzzled out a rusty tin can |
| Me and this mic is like yin and yang |
| Clang! |
| Crime don’t pay, listen, youth |
| It’s like me holding up the line at the kissing booth |
| I took her back to the truck, she was uncouth |
| Spittin’all out the sunroof, through her missing tooth |
| But then she has a sexy voice, sound like Jazzy Joyce |
| So I turned it up faster than a speeding knife |
| Strong enough to please a wife |
| Able to drop today’s math in the 48 keys of life |
| Cut the crap far as rap |
| Touch the mic, get the same thing a Arab will do to you for stealing |
| What the devil? |
| He’s on another level |
| It’s a word! |
| No, a name! |
| MF — the super-villain! |
| Doomsday! |
| Dig the sound |
| Crowd around |