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Yeah for the motherfuckin 2000 in this mother Straight from Houston Tex The motherfuckin Dr. Dooom
I'm shuttin rappers down like Guiliani shut down strip clubs Turnin your fake gangster hardcore stories into some Mickey Mouse Teletubbies shit Y'all niggaz need to quit stop pullin your silicone tits And this city is my town Don't even fuckin tryin to say a fly rhyme I'm holdin posessions you don't own And your cellular phone don't even fuckin 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 bitch-ass fuckin extension cord Suckers be fakers, ATM pullin frauds I'm sendin two men, out to boo men Quick to get to y'all niggaz like Western Union I'm comin like the fax machine I pour it on your whole team Y'all niggaz ain't got time to scheme I'm out to shatter your fuckin rap dreams Top to bottom, any angle, whatever your bullshit mind think Your words gon' tangle Sound like shit 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 homos with feminine vocals I catch niggaz when clubs are packed, rubbin elbows Tryin to whisper shit in ugly bitches earlobes Dr. Dooom callin wack niggaz houses from the Radisson hotel room Penthouse suites, bitch niggaz get 911 beeps I'm always hearin more softest MC's talk shit about the streets Fuck your seedy impression of pain Ninety-nine percent of your shit was normal, one percent sound strange A&R's be suckin a lot of dick and spreadin they ass 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 crackhead five dollars to fuck up your million dollar marketing plan with a brand new sub-machine gun and a hot dog, on a Yankee Stadium bun First class rates, hire Wall Street messengers to move your antique rap styles in milk crates Special delivery for all you motherfuckers sportin hard boots with ashey faces tryin to get with me Y'all suckers is amateurs, gettin fucked up the assholes by the top worst managers On the publishin deal, wipe my condoms off your Ampex reels No games to be played, you lookin fuckin 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 fuckin flares Who's doin your dress code, some old stank bitch with mascara touchin up your face on the road You feelin healthier, your rap audience is only New York to Philadelphia Baltimore never even heard your fuckin metaphor Shut the fuck up, put your buck up, look at the dicks you suck up Maximum ass thoughts, you fuckin get crushed like the five o'clock train rush, sweaty as a motherfucker The best rapper can lick my ass I make your girl pick me up lick my sperm in your E-class 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 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 shit on your mind Who's crowd, the Blues feel my news Accurately in New York City There's a thousand motherfuckers tryin to rap and look pretty Save it for David Take that motherfuckin rented ride back to Avis When it come to rap I'm the big motherfucker on the paylist Ridin the Amtrak, lookin at Billboard You need to be hung on a steel cord Sittin next to a Doberman, shit in Harlem Any poodles on the mic, we gon' stop em I'm in the dressin room with the average bitch lookin like Halle Berry, rubbin my nuts My fingers all up in her guts Watchin Monday Night Football with my dick all up in her butt 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 fuckin Pesquateway Scared, palm that away Why don't you bastards move back in the metro area The Marriott is the spot where the prostitutes 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 Parkchester You sniffin that shit again Souped up from the neck up from the buttcrack up You need a fuckin 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 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
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The Dr. Dooom (Kool Keith) Brothers Feel Fly lyrics are brought to you by Lyrics-Keeper. You can use lyrics widget for karaoke. We tried to make lyrics as correct as possible, however if you have any corrections for Brothers Feel Fly lyrics, please feel free to submit them to us. If you want to download this song in mp3 you can visit one of our music sponsors.
