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Vomit Chorus
by
MF DOOM
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Lyrics
You wanna match wits? I put a lit match to ya’ lips, after gasoline chapstick Been to jail, but always felt school’s worse And wrote this sh*t down before he heard DOOM’s verse Even though he’s crook, took the money, ran when he finished it Fam’s gotta eat, so we’ll reheat the dinner kid Heroin thoughts, made him dope with the swagger And try to go plat’ with a cheap jug of Goldschläger Who is this kid who smoke pot in a cop’s car? And pulled his c*ck out, unidentified rockstar Summertime, catch me in the candy shop with hot bars Cool like Keith, but his heat still Poppa Large Hole in your chest, for a fun pass It get you address, you gotta walk through where guns blast Got the platinum crack or the smooth sh*t More like African beads and heavy chew sticks From a ruthless Crooklyn kid that move swift Knock you out, leave your face right by his new p*ss By himself in the crew [?] Surrounded by fat asses, said it helped him write new sh*t Move bricks, and tag his name in a taxi Man enough to go to Target, and buy her maxis Pad full of plot, ain’t have pockets swole Ran with Haitian kids who would cut ya’ battyhole Hustle and flow, mami cried ‘cause papi know He tried to get his own wax on out, like Ralph Macchio Thinking fast with a slow thought On the train looking strange, his lady and his son had a mohawk Rude girl, facing mad, fingernail Jamaican flag Epileptic flows that had grandma shaking bad Making dad turn over in his grave Like ‘kiss my ass, my son won’t spit like a slave’ One or two-ish floor raps, this the first time he heard rhyme The industry doors, had the ‘do not disturb’ sign And that’s that sh*t, that’ll cause a iller kid to ride On the Makaveli flip like Bishop yelling ‘Riverside’ You follow that? You spit like you swallow tacks For P&J sandwiches, told cats ‘holla back Got the gat? Yup, for ignorance we’ll all die Which makes less sense than a large order of small fries, all rise He lost it when he found it Moms wouldn’t let him go to school, said he sound sick On some calm sh*t, count bars like a convict Until the time for the break then, vomit (“DOOM”) It's the beat, I hear it in my sleep sometimes Blare it in your jeep so your peeps can stare at the rhymes Real rhymes not your everyday hologram Even when ribs is touchin', never swallowed the ham He'd rather eat a sand sandwich salad It might need salt like your man's bland ballad A lot of stuff happens that the news won't tell you's Blues on L juice, snooze, all hell loose Rake it, take it like the good, the bad, the ugly Break it rollin' through ya hood in the caddy buggy Butter softly, leather flossy, fatty juggy Always threw me off when she told me, "Daddy, funk me" I'm like, "Anywho's" Seeds walkin' all out in the street without any shoes I guess it's better than some funky socks You need to get her some skips before she catch the monkey pox She wanna hear the beatbox Take pills and make fake krills as sheetrock Sing it, bring it, back to your laboratory While he's in his oratory, glorious like a horror story The mask is like Jason He told the place not to let the basket type case in He might be some type of wacko Lookin' for a chance to heat the pipes like a crack ho He said, blessed be the Lord Who believe any mess they read up on a message board If so, I got a bridge for the low low Them type fools go b*t*h to the popo Here, orange peel L’s for the whole tier Feel like he been gone the whole year, came home to old gear It was the sh*t when he first scooped it At least you get to sit out in New York and curse stupid He plead the fifth, and sip wine stiffly Patiently come up, and be spiffy in a jiffy Gift with the grind, criminal mind shifty cat Swift with the nine through a 59-50 hat You hear it when you meditate in deep theta Let her hate the creep later Dedicated cheapskater who keep data Stay well self-medicated to sleep later Side effects is similar to sugar pill Nobody go next on the mic, he put a booger, ew And made his exit on some calm sh*t Beg on the regs for the kegs of the vomit ("DOOM!")
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