Beef Rap-MF Doom

Beef Rap - MF Doom Beef rap could lead to gettin’ teeth capped Or even a wreath for mom dukes on some grief crap I suggest you change your diet It can lead to high blood pressure if you fry it Or even a stroke, heart attack, heart disease It ain't no startin’ back once arteries start to squeeze Take the easy way out, phony, until then they know They wouldn't be talkin’ that bologna in the bullpen So disgustin, pardon self as I discuss this They talk a wealth of sh*t and they ain't never seen the justice Bust this like a cold milk from out the toilet Two batteries some Brillo and some foil, he'll boil it He be better off on PC glued And it's a feud so don't be in no TV mood Every week it's mystery meat, seaweed stewed He wears a mask just to cover the raw flesh A rather ugly brother with flows that's gorgeous Drop dead joints hit the whips like bird sh*t They need it like a hole in they head or a third tit Her bra smell, his card say, aw, hell Barred from all bars and kicked out the Carvel Keep a cooker where the jar fell And keep a cheap hooker that's off the hook like Ma Bell Top bleeding, maybe fellow took the loaded rod gears Stop feeding babies colored, sugar coated lard squares The odd pairs swears and God fears Even when it's rotten, we've gotten through the hard years I wrote this note around New Year's Off a couple a shots and a few beers, but who cares Enough about me, it's about the beats Not about the streets and who food he about to eat A rhymin’ cannibal who's dressed to kill, it's cynical Whether is it animal, vegetable or mineral It's a miracle how he get so lyrical And proceed to move the crowd like a old negro spiritual For a mil' do a commercial for Mello Yello Tell 'em devil's hell, no, sell y'all own Jello We hollow krills, she swallow pills He follow flea collar, three dollar bills And squeal for halal veal, in y'all appeal Dig the real, it's how the big ballers deal Twirl a L after every meal Word up to all rappers, shut up with ya shuttin’ up And keep your shirt on, at least a button up Yuck, is they rhymers or strippin’ males? Outta work jerks since they shut down Chippendales They chippin’ nails, doom, chippin’ scales Let alone the pre-orders that's counted off shippin’ sales This one goes out to all my peoples skippin’ bail Dippin’ jail, whippin’ tail and sippin’ ale Light the doobie ‘til it glow like a ruby After which they couldn't find the villain like Scooby He's in the lab on some old Buddha Monk sh*t Overproof drunk sh*t and who'da thunk it Punk, try and ask why ours be better It could be the iron mask or the Cosby sweater Yes, you, who's screwed by the dude on the CD nude