MF DOOM – Beef Rapp Lyrics

Produced By: MF DOOM
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[Verse 1]
Beef rap, could lead to getting teeth capped
Or even a wreath for ma 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 starting back once arteries start to squeeze

Take the easy way out phony, until then
They know they wouldn't be talking that baloney in the bullpen
So disgusting, pardon self as I discuss this
They talk a wealth of shit 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'a 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
(Food, we need food!)

[Verse 2]
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 shit
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 fella took the loaded rod gears
Stop feeding babies colored sugar-coated lard squares
The odd pair 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 rhyming cannibal who's dressed to kill and 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, 80-dollar pill
Dig the real, it's how the big ballers deal
Twirl a L after every meal (FOOD!)

[Verse 3]
What up?
To all rappers: shut up with your shutting up
And keep your shirt on, at least a button-up
Yuck, is they rhymers or strippin' males?
Out of work jerks since they shut down Chippendales

They chippin' nails, DOOM, tippin' 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 'till 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 shit
Overproof drunk shit, and who would'a thunk it?

Punk, try and ask why ours be better
Could be the iron mask or the Cosby sweater

Yes, you, who's screwed by the dude on the CD, nude (We need food!)

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