Mf Doom - One Beer lyrics
I get no kick from champagne
Their alcohol doesn't thrill me at all
So tell me why shouldn't it be true
I get a kick out of brew
There's only one beer left,
Rappers screaming all in our ears like we're deaf.
Do a number on the label,
Eat up all their MC's and drink 'em under the table, like
It's on me.
Put it on my tab kid.
However you get there,
Foot it, Cab it, Iron horse it
You leavin' on your face, forfeit,
I crush the mic hold it like the heat he might toss it.
Told him tell 'em they stole it,
He told her he lost it,
She told him get off it, and a bunch other more shit.
DT's be gettin' no new leads,
It's like he eatin' watermelon,
stay spitting new seeds.
It's the weed,
give me some of what he's drooping off,
Soon as he wake up, choking like it was whooping cough.
Their group been soft,
First hour at the open bar and they're trooping off.
He went to go laugh and get some head by the side road,
She asked him autograph her derriere,
Read: "To wide load."
this yard bird taste like fried toad
Turned love villain
Take pride and code words
Crooked eye mold, nerd, geek with a cold heart
Probably still be speaking in rhymes as an old fart.
Study how to eat to dine by the pizza guy,
No he's not too fly to skeet in a skeezer's eye,
And squeeze her thigh,
Maybe giver her curves a feel,
The same way she feel it when he flow with nerves of steel.
They call him super when they need their back or plumbing fixed.
How it's only one left?
The pack comes in six!
Whatever happened to two and three?
A herb tried to slide with four and five and got caught,
Like, "What you doing G?"
Don't make 'em have to get cutting like truancy.
Matter fact, not for nothin', right now you and me!
Looser than a pair of Adidas,
I hope you brought your spare tweeters,
MCs sound like cheerleaders.
Rapping and dancing like Red Head Kingpin,
DOOM came to do the thing again no matter who be blingin'.
He do it for the smelly hubbies,
Seeds know what time it is like it's time for Teletubbies.
Few can do it, even fewer can sell it,
Take it from the dude who wear a mask like a 'tarded helmet.
He plot shows like robberies,
In and out,
One, two, three; no bodies please.
Run the cash and you won't get a wet sweatshirt,
The mic is the shootie; nobody move, nobody get hurt.
Bring heat like the boiler, I'm going to war,
Came in the door, and "Everybody on the floor!"
A whole string of jobs like we are on tour,
Every night on the score coming to your corner store.