Correction Lyrics More Tongue Less Teeth (Nosaj Thing Remix) by MF DOOM

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Lyrics

Citizen to goddamnit
Came to make them sick like some thick hot clam spit
Lit this brick toxic ham bit
Vic the mic quicker on some pick your pocket scam
Citizen to goddamnit
Came to make them sick like some thick hot clam spit
Lit this brick toxic ham bit
Vic the mic quicker on some pick your pocket scam
Citizen to goddamnit
Came to make them sick like some thick hot clam spit
Lit this brick toxic ham bit
Vic the mic quicker on some pick your pocket scam
Citizen to goddamnit
Came to make them sick like some thick hot clam spit
Lit this brick toxic ham bit
Vic the mic quicker on some pick your pocket scam

I got a part-time gig
And I do it bettеr than these cartoon kids
Working hard at they full timе thing (What that mean?)
So that means I'm the cleaner man
Sorta like Superman, holla and I'm [?]
Fumbling a [?] of sh*t
I hate bragging [?], yo
I kinda got a big d**k
So I'm contempt when little n***as pose off and chat 'bout [?]
Yeah this is big dog [?] accident, dent ya
And not a fender bender, uh-uh
His momma deal with Plastic Little, leave you brittle
So just ask us or just trust us
Plastic pickle nuts touch your nose and chin
Cinnamon scented, yo smell it
The girls tell me it's cocoa butter flavored
Ones you can't get, won't even f**k with
I grip 'em up and tuck em in a n***a-nannie split
Then he's open on the regular, yes sir
f**k this I got women to dress
Checks to cut and then turns to debt
Enjoy them hip-hop social security checks

Aw, shucks pa
You shoulda spent that on Trimspa
Emcees think they Grey Goose
But they just Vladimir Vodka
Kaka shen, suse pejo?
Sticking crackers for their Zunes or their iPods
PackofRats down on Diagon Alley
I'm copping Weasley's Wheezes
Then I dip to the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer
Yeah, yeah y'all, you know I love it here
I rap this way because I rap this way
I don't give a f**k about your "back in the day"
A f**k about your '93
A f**k about hip-hop
I got tight jeans and a flat top
A girl that loves Brit-pop
Now, what you know about that?
Probably nada, papa
You can't step to me, with mommy's old recipe
Go back to the lab, I'll even pay for the cab
And a new foil mask, PackofRats on that ass
With class and panache
Like the black Boy George that I am
In a Dodge Ram with Coke up in the Philly fitted
Yup, I'm all words, f**k deeds
I'm at home watching BBC laughing at Mr. Bean
He's a funny cracker y'all

Virgo, Zodiac
Peace, love and gat
Grab the same receipts from the snippy snacks [?]
Citing all, I got 'em trapped by the fleece hoodie
Racking 'em all like "where the cypher at y'all?"
Washed up just like Dwight Gooden
Like a bucket full of [?] sh*t and hot pudding
Yo, disco doughnuts, pills and throw up
ill trill y'all, it's a holdup
I'm on the moon rappin', getting space head
From a ill three titty space bass-head
My magic 808 is gold-plated homie
It spits flames and DJs repeat me homie
I'm on the beat, two, three homie
You want to see a little peak, you gotta pay
I gotta eat homie
I'm on the beat homie
So be [?]
Tell your girl she need a better technique
More tongue and less teeth

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