Let he who is without sin cast the first stone
After you, who's last? It's DOOM he's the worst known
That'll have your boom blown or even or even thirst bone
Rock it to a worse clone, just don't cure the throne
On his own microphone, bring it everywhere he go
So he bring it to you live in stere-ere-o (stereo)
Pan it, can't understand it, ban it
The underhanded ranted, planned it, and left him stranded
The best, any who profess will be remanded
Yes sir, request permission to be candid? Granted
I don't think we could handle a style so rancid
He flipped it like Madlib did an old jazz stand in
Don't mind me, I wrote this rhyme lightly
Off of two or three Heines, and boy was they fine G
One Black, one Spanish, one Chinese
He keeps the woody shiny year round like a pine tree
Don't sign me, I'm about to get a mil' without 'em
Crowd him off the shelf, he's the villain, and what about him?
So, eh, he's a jerk and you don't know him
Mad how he expand work but won't show 'em
Poor guys, what a sight for old sore four eyes
Now hook me with, two apple pies and a small fries
All rise, so far art as a Rupple
So raw break it down and make quadruple
It's crucial, you could see it in his pupil
And this time when he get it he waste it on something useful
Like getting juiced off a deuce-deuce of cokey
Keep it lowkey, known to pull an okey-dokey
Silly goose, DOOM is too jokey
Damn he could really use a room or a whole key
Egads, he got enough styles to start three fads
True that, she bad, I wonder do she come with knee pads
What a call, what a real butterball
Either I get a strike or strike out, gutter-ball
Rock it like gear for the fall
With nice inside pockets, prepare for the brawl
Yeah y'all, you could say it's an ear-full
Beware, do not touch mic, be careful
And just like you said I could've told ya
MF, the holder of a boulder, money folder
Money folder
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
