Yeah, for the motherfuckin 2000
In this mother
Straight from Houston, Tex
The motherfuckin Dr. Dooom
I'm shuttin rappers down like Guiliani shut down strip clubs
Turnin your fake gangster hardcore stories
Into some Mickey Mouse, Teletubbies shit
Y'all niggaz need to quit, stop pullin your silicone tits
And this city is my town
Don't even fuckin tryin to say a fly rhyme
I'm holdin posessions you don't own
And your cellular phone don't even fuckin roam
Y'all got the nerve to be standin in the hot rap zone
Against somethin you can't afford
Rappers be soundin bored at the show
I need to start pullin your bitch-ass fuckin extension cord
Suckers be fakers, ATM pullin frauds
I'm sendin two men, out to boo men
Quick to get to y'all niggaz like Western Union
I'm comin like the fax machine
I pour it on your whole team
Y'all niggaz ain't got time to scheme
I'm out to shatter your fuckin rap dreams
Top to bottom, any angle, whatever your bullshit mind think
Your words gon' tangle
Sound like shit on a Tascan mix
A bunch of y'all tracks need to be fixed
Professionally, you sound like the dog Toto
When I see Flex, I'ma ask him
Why he playin a lot of records from a bunch of homos
With feminine vocals
I catch niggaz when clubs are packed, rubbin elbows
Tryin to whisper shit in ugly bitches earlobes
Dr. Dooom callin wack niggaz houses from the Radisson hotel room
Penthouse suites, bitch niggaz get 911 beeps
I'm always hearin more softest MC's talk shit about the streets
Fuck your seedy impression of pain
Ninety-nine percent of your shit was normal,
One percent sound strange
A&R's be suckin a lot of dick
And spreadin they ass cheeks to get the hits
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up ..
You couldn't rap with me if we was twins stuck together
You be the deformed one, catchin the warm one
I pay a crackhead five dollars
To fuck up your million dollar marketing plan
With a brand new sub-machine gun
And a hot dog, on a Yankee Stadium bun
First class rates, hire Wall Street messengers
To move your antique rap styles in milk crates
Special delivery for all you motherfuckers
Sportin hard boots with ashey faces tryin to get with me
Y'all suckers is amateurs, gettin fucked up the assholes
By the top worst managers
On the publishin deal, wipe my condoms off your Ampex reels
No games to be played, you lookin fuckin jiggy
MC's with collared shirts and shoes tryin to duplicate Biggie
No matter where, you only got one pair
Alligators don't match with them fuckin flares
Who's doin your dress code, some old stank bitch
With mascara touchin up your face on the road
You feelin healthier, your rap audience
Is only New York to Philadelphia
Baltimore never even heard your fuckin metaphor
Shut the fuck up, put your buck up, look at the dicks you suck up
Maximum ass thoughts, you fuckin get crushed
Like the five o'clock train rush, sweaty as a motherfucker
The best rapper can lick my ass
I make your girl pick me up lick my sperm in your E-class
Leave my diapers moist in the back seat of your Rolls Royce
Stop your whole organization on Park Avenue and start laughin at you
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
You ain't the top rap in the country
New jacks, you shoulda knew that
From experience, you couldn't write from the beginnin
Bookin studio time, with some scramblin concert shit on your mind
Who's crowd, the Blues feel my news
Accurately in New York City
There's a thousand motherfuckers tryin to rap and look pretty
Save it for David
Take that motherfuckin rented ride back to Avis
When it come to rap I'm the big motherfucker on the paylist
Ridin the Amtrak, lookin at Billboard
You need to be hung on a steel cord
Sittin next to a Doberman, shit in Harlem
Any poodles on the mic, we gon' stop em
I'm in the dressin room with the average bitch
Lookin like Halle Berry, rubbin my nuts
My fingers all up in her guts
Watchin Monday Night Football with my dick all up in her butt
MC's stand away when I pull out my mitt put your hand away
Most of these fake hard rappers never seen the projects
Live in fuckin Pesquateway
Scared, palm that away
Why don't you bastards move back in the metro area
The Marriott is the spot
Where the prostitutes lick your Rolex watch
Left you naked out with your stomach out
Hangin out with cocaine on the dresser
With a Puerto Rican girl with HIV from Parkchester
You sniffin that shit again
Souped up from the neck up from the buttcrack up
You need a fuckin checkup
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room!
Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat
Keith Matthew Thornton, better known by his stage name Kool Keith, is an American rapper and record producer known for his surreal, abstract, and often profane or incomprehensible lyrics. Kool Keith has recorded prolifically both as a solo artist and in group collaborations. Kool Keith is generally considered to be one of hip-hop's most eccentric and unusual personalities.
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