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lirik lagu dr. dooom’s in the room – dr. dooom

yeah, for the motherf-ckin’ 2000
in this mother
straight from houston, tex
the motherf-ckin’ dr. dooom

i’m shuttin’ rappers down like guiliani shut down strip clubs
turnin’ your fake gangster hardcore stories
into some mickey mouse, teletubbies sh-t
y’all n-gg-z need to quit, stop pullin’ your silicone t-ts

and this city is my town
don’t even f-ckin’ tryin’ to say a fly rhyme
i’m holdin’ possessions you don’t own
and your cellular phone don’t even f-ckin’ 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 b-tch–ss f-ckin’ extension cord

suckers be fakers, atm pullin’ frauds
i’m sendin’ two men, out to boo men
quick to get to y’all n-gg-z like western union
i’m comin’ like the fax machine

i pour it on your whole team
y’all n-gg-z ain’t got time to scheme
i’m out to shatter your f-ckin’ rap dreams
top to bottom, any angle, whatever your bullsh-t mind think

your words gon’ tangle
sound like sh-t 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 h-m-s
with feminine vocals
i catch n-gg-z when clubs are packed, rubbin’ elbows

tryin’ to whisper sh-t in ugly b-tches earlobes
dr. dooom callin’ wack n-gg-z houses from the radisson hotel room
penthouse suites, b-tch n-gg-z get 911 beeps
i’m always hearin’ more softest mc’s talk sh-t about the streets

f-ck your seedy impression of pain
ninety-nine percent of your sh-t was normal
one percent sound strange
a&r’s be suckin’ a lot of d-ck
and spreadin’ they -ss 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 crack head five dollars
to f-ck up your million dollar marketing plan

with a brand new sub-machine gun
and a hot dog, on a yankee stadium bun
first cl-ss rates, hire wall street messengers
to move your antique rap styles in milk crates

special delivery for all you motherf-ckers
sportin’ hard boots with ashey faces tryin’ to get with me
y’all suckers is amateurs, gettin’ f-cked up the -ssholes
by the top worst managers

on the publishin’ deal, wipe my condoms off your ampex reels
no games to be played, you lookin’ f-ckin’ 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 f-ckin’ flares
who’s doin’ your dress code, some old stank b-tch
with mascara touchin’ up your face on the road
you feelin’ healthier, your rap audience

is only new pork to philadelphia
baltimore never even heard your f-ckin’ metaphor
shut the f-ck up, put your buck up, look at the d-cks you suck up
maximum -ss thoughts, you f-ckin’ get crushed

like the five o’clock train rush, sweaty as a motherf-cker
the best rapper can lick my -ss
i make your girl pick me up lick my sperm in your e-cl-ss
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

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 sh-t on your mind

who’s crowd, the blues feel my news
accurately in new york city
there’s a thousand motherf-ckers tryin’ to rap and look pretty
save it for david

take that motherf-ckin’ rented ride back to avis
when it come to rap i’m the big motherf-cker on the pay list
ridin’ the amtrak, lookin’ at billboard
you need to be hung on a steel cord

sittin’ next to a doberman, sh-t in harlem
any poodles on the mic, we gon’ stop ’em
i’m in the dressin’ room with the average b-tch
lookin’ like halle berry, rubbin’ my nuts

my fingers all up in her guts
watchin’ monday night football with my d-ck all up in her b-tt
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 f-ckin’ pesquateway
scared, palm that away
why don’t you b-st-rds move back in the metro area
the marriott is the spot

where the prost-tutes 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 park chester

you sniffin’ that sh-t again
souped up from the neck up from the b-tt crack up
you need a f-ckin’ 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

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