Return of Dr. God

What's so funny?

I said what's so funny?

Nothing man

I'm sure everything you do is lyrical

And let's not take this personal, my ideas construe to fuck with you

The question is, what's so funny? I'm clerical

You ran to church and confessed your sins like an indecent proposal

While I barge in and yell at the clergy, it's not personal

I figured shock therapy and my shotgun would help you believe

The mistakes that parents make, the Earthquakes, the undiscovered

Truths about you and the priest and paddy cakes

You word mumble and jumbling and drool on the mic outta tune

It's not a question of whether or not I should use autotune

It's a decision you make to write your fame with fortune

But with bad taste. KGH all day dude

Killing Good Hip hop and acting so fake

You take so much time to write one rhyme and

You ask me what's so funny?

Ha ha, you rap, that's what funny

Kid you could takes weeks, and your shit would still bleed

Pus on the mic, n the booth, on the street, in the house way the fuck far from me

So quit it please. Only one reason I breathe, and that's to get you to

Ask me, hat's so funny, Kama?

Believe you me, I'm not laughing with you, I'm laughing at you

Exhaust pipes pooping out your beats. No mp3s to save the day on

Your street. Yo, he's got beats, and he's got beats, but

Dog listen, yo that beat don't got me

I'm that asshole at your show making you freestyle, then killing

You in slo-mo. I'm not about to walk away, cause I enjoy watchin' yo

Watchin' you bury yourself with that meaningless flow

Talkin' bout 'dro in the streets?

White boy bank! Yo, you backpack rapper, I smoke weed and

Work and I make my ends meet, so google me then one day

You'll actually understand my laughter

Oh you want more? Okay, so let's discuss

More, something to settle the score. Let's talk about your woman

The grocery store clerk who does the jerk by eight, cause she's late

Kiss and lives with your one-eyed taste

She does what she can to make ends meet - steak on your plate

Tv in the face, reality show, remote control, cyber space

Cocaine clouds, bloody nose with no haste

Your girls' not in a pretty place man

So appreciate and don't hate this independent man

Tough smokin' gettin' answers to my questions, only deal in my

Profession to keep my pockets fat and your woman guessin

This is the life I lead, whether you buy it or not

And weather permitted dog, you gonna like a lot

So when it rains it pours, and as it was said by Toth

Who knows? Rock, paper, scissors or gold

Scissors, paper or rock, gold. Rhyme fast, rhyme slow

Fuck you and get to your point yo

Scissors do the job, cutting thru skin of course

And paper absorbs this blast from you within me

As the rock stops time, so I can emcee over and over

Time spent next to a slot, lazy day sober

Making her crazy, pills make her crazy

Bro, as I stand in your cypher alone

Bought gold, sold homes, bad credit, no-doz

Taking micro naps, not knowing if I'm fucking asleep

Giving the family an ambien and creep

Down to the watering hole, not knowing if you'll see next week

Protools, MPCs digital wonderland occurs

International unity, to say that I care would be

Pushing me, fucking underground rappers and their policies

I put forth my Pumas to stop your feces from leaking

I'm the reason you beat makers need me

So I play my cards, while you call me odd

Well look

You're listening to the return of Dr. God