MF DOOM - “Impostas”
[Emcee(s): MF DOOM]
[Producer(s): MF DOOM and Ill Clown]
[Sample (Melody): Setsuo Yamamoto, Shun Nishigaki, and Tatsuro Suzuki - “Charlie Ending” (0:31)]
[Intro: MF DOOM]
The Supervillian versus the gold-digger
DOOM mild-mannered old nigga
Supporter for the daily blues
Reporter for the jewel, drop news, pop Israeli tools
[Verse 1: MF DOOM]
The world-renowned master of word game
Who lay low sometime behind iceberg nerd frames
(Ayyo, MF) They heard the name, but just couldn’t
Quite place the rep if they retraced they steps
Next EP, who to give thanks ta?
Here lies the pranksta who tried to test a gangsta
The last thing he saw was a potato
From the lone NATO who hosts his own late show
Keep a low lab on Monsta Island like Seinfeld
White-wine clientele connected like Mind Meld
I can tell they sees these styles as too tricky
They’re too picky on this microphone doohickey
MF, Monday through Friday, get money
Saturday through Sunday, the brown Al Bundy
Waiting for the shit you’re kicking as the plot thickens
He wrote these rhymes in 3-D with red and blue BIC pen
And to the chickens, only hoes who say, “Let me hold ‘em”
Take him in their mouth while he’s semi-swollen—semicolon
I told him words would do a nigga brutal
For not using his noodle, F up and get bamboozled
He was the one to open to her up, blow her brains
Back, dope her up or rope her to the train tracks
Or he would choke her ‘til she collapse, steal/steel
To poker/poke her with the wood, and tell her, “Be good”
He could take a phrase like “Peter Piper picked a pepper”
And put it where he couldn’t peep a sniper, sicker repper
Nigga poppa, stick a chick proper
Double-platinum, Oprah, soap-opera watchers, gossipers
On top of her
[Emcee(s): MF DOOM]
[Producer(s): MF DOOM and Ill Clown]
[Sample (Melody): Setsuo Yamamoto, Shun Nishigaki, and Tatsuro Suzuki - “Charlie Ending” (0:31)]
[Intro: MF DOOM]
The Supervillian versus the gold-digger
DOOM mild-mannered old nigga
Supporter for the daily blues
Reporter for the jewel, drop news, pop Israeli tools
[Verse 1: MF DOOM]
The world-renowned master of word game
Who lay low sometime behind iceberg nerd frames
(Ayyo, MF) They heard the name, but just couldn’t
Quite place the rep if they retraced they steps
Next EP, who to give thanks ta?
Here lies the pranksta who tried to test a gangsta
The last thing he saw was a potato
From the lone NATO who hosts his own late show
Keep a low lab on Monsta Island like Seinfeld
White-wine clientele connected like Mind Meld
I can tell they sees these styles as too tricky
They’re too picky on this microphone doohickey
MF, Monday through Friday, get money
Saturday through Sunday, the brown Al Bundy
Waiting for the shit you’re kicking as the plot thickens
He wrote these rhymes in 3-D with red and blue BIC pen
And to the chickens, only hoes who say, “Let me hold ‘em”
Take him in their mouth while he’s semi-swollen—semicolon
I told him words would do a nigga brutal
For not using his noodle, F up and get bamboozled
He was the one to open to her up, blow her brains
Back, dope her up or rope her to the train tracks
Or he would choke her ‘til she collapse, steal/steel
To poker/poke her with the wood, and tell her, “Be good”
He could take a phrase like “Peter Piper picked a pepper”
And put it where he couldn’t peep a sniper, sicker repper
Nigga poppa, stick a chick proper
Double-platinum, Oprah, soap-opera watchers, gossipers
On top of her
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