Believe me he'll get busy when it comes to poetry
Double-Dutch then turn on the mic with a thumb stroke
He's got plenty la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
And kept a pen and a pencil in his mental den
He's got plenty la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
And all that kerosene ain’t cheap
Believe me he'll get busy when it comes to poetry
Cornier and phonier than a play fight
Subtle touch, cuddle clutch, is this thing on?
The type to hit and run and go tell a friend
Ahem, 1, 2, check me too
Jump 'em in like jump rope
But why stress, try an remember when
He always was a gentleman
Before it turned up all burnt by his solar plexus
Maybe bit the tender skinned babysitter Gwendolyn
Loose wreck, see through your goose neck EQ
The beat won’t fail me with more rhymes
When he’s on the bone it’s like the microphone length
His name's Doom
Take two of these and don’t phone me on the late night
Right there next to where the Rolodex was
Sing a song of slap happy crappiness
His name's Doom
And with ain’t it funky like dingy socks
Mic not an eye test, yet I digress
Like the fling with Mrs King Kong, this spring gone
He don’t know his own strength
Believe me he'll get busy when it comes to poetry
Feel the full effect off cassette in your Benzie Box
Villain been deep since a teenage creep, peep
They wonder just who is he but don't worry
They wonder just who is he but don't worry
Word to El Muerto, cucaracha, exo-skeleton
Surely I jest, the best on a wireless
Tow a rap jinn by his toe and to hell again
Rap these days is like a pain up in the neck
He know, flow like inter-stellar wind
Than times he wash his hands and feet daily
He came to flow like it was strapped to his nappy chest
Ay, if I may interject?
