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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Dr. Dooom
Dr. Dooom
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Keith Thornton
Keith Thornton
Songwriter
Kurt Matlin
Kurt Matlin
Songwriter

Lyrics

Yo, I bought that album man, it's wack man I'm tellin' you, I don't like it I'ma be honest man, honest? I'm dead up, I'm serious, serious? I don't feel it man, the drums are too weak I don't feel the snares Coulda used a different type of sample You're wack man, yeah Yo, that kid is wack, his father's wack His group is wack, that's word, word black I'm detrimental, I hop up on this instrumental Smack your face with mitts, a pile of grease filled with grits Burn you like Teddy Pendergrass, tap you on that ass I'm Big Jim, shut your mouth, call me Jimmy Steel Don't freestyle, Chemical Bank, y'all keep it real On Lollapalooza, their butts packed with German Lugers On tour dates, stashin' mad work in milk crates Rock groups get smacked, speakers dropped, on they back Some damage I'm raw, kid the blood is on your kneecaps Let's get scuffed up, your castle more than roughed up Pockets with royalties, you gets, no loyalties That's word bill, sell your house's mortgage off the hill I'm for real necks, payin' crackers for my Ampex, yeah It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) You got commercial records, no monies in your wack pockets You get jerked, my Master charge card's doin' work Eight thousand grills, all these Franklin heads, big head bills You go 'head wrap balogna sandwich in yo' backpack School kids up no joke on record labels, y'all still broke Don't flex at me, who's this kid, standin' next to me I got versatile sawed off shotgun WIC checks with me Suckers I'm android, no time to feel paranoid Blow out your face, pull your skull back, now give me space My wig is ready, disguised, ridin' on the subway Baldhead on 42nd Street, down on Broadway With Tony Lou, out of prison, my crew from Rahway That's word Lou, I'm in New York, I'm here to see you Cut back your weak tracks and vomit on your vinyl wax I'm here, like gladiator, air conditioned central You smokin' embalmin' fluid, elephants are mental I got dreams to wear your parts off your cash machine That's in the window me with bags, in the Wells Fargo Changin' your incite, I'm high class, with appetite You no comp, for roast pigs, I delete Your style is neck bone, my cab rides by your street, yeah It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) I twist the bums out the project, elevator lights is out Y'all wanna step to Phi B, big like the [unverified] family Holdin' your ear, like you handicapped, you can't hear Touch up your young style delivery, don't appeal Follow through, instructions easy for your rap crew That's word, that kid you rapped, sound like BooBoo Stinky feet, with razor bumps, tryin' to rap on beat I cut your fog lamp down like meat, cut, by the pound Heather B, step to me, with your thin sound Twist your knobs, your engineer, mixed like Baskin-Rob's You on the charts, with just enough to Pop Tarts Publishin' checks you signed off, you gets no respect You gets to lease the Benz, cryin' loud with your WIC check No sale retail, deposit all direct sales Yeah, check it It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) It's the brother feelin' fly (Brothers feelin' fly) Yeah, yeah styles retarded Brothers feelin fly
Writer(s): Keith Thornton Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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