Released: January 12, 2002
Featuring: Megalon MF DOOM
Songwriter: MF Grimm Megalon MF DOOM
Producer: Metal Fingers
[Verse 1: MF Grimm]
Some quote scriptures, but parrots quote. Grimm scriptures
Are made from scratch, my mind floats, and I got
War scars, war scrapes from war skits, rhymes
Souped-up like lentil to show my mental is not accidental
My world revolves ‘cause it’s autocratic
My guns revolve, but some are automatic
Vision beyond the optical needed when living prodigal
Sleep with third eye open or get clipped like a cuticle
Conditional choices stable or critical
“Who lives? Who dies? Who strives?” is so political
Young street champs stripped of belts in pistol title shots
Heavyweight division, K.O.’s, no split decisions
Giuliani referees this hellhole, but he don’t give a
Fuck, so there’s cuts, headbutts, and elbows
Drug sweeps, bullets fly, bloods splot blotches
Thugs creep, niggas died, tortured, held hostage
Actions brutal beyond belief but authentic
Rhymes genuine, thoughts are anti-synthetic
Attempt to get Jurassic, plant shit back prehistoric
Roach niggas are morbid from my acid thoughts of boric
Kidnapped, snatched, ran off, no self-extortion
Shit’s Creek, they seek demands of financial portions
Six Million Dollars, nigga, like you’re Steve Austin
‘Cause if they really love you, that’s how much love is costing
Or death will be puzzled. Jigsaw fate, chopped
Up, distributed body parts in different states
Take you to spots that nobody knows
Curiosity grows as you decompose
[Verse 2: Megalon]
Lord
Have mercy, Percy. Bagged up in Jersey, but don’t curse me
Six million ways to die, but none of them could hurt me. Aw
Fuck! I’m stuck in the desert, and I’m thirsty. Call-
-ing Black Jesus, “Help! Red Devils disturbing me!” but I’ma
Rise. Look into my eyes. It’s hard to survive when your mother and father
Dies. You try suicide, but all you do is cry, wrist
Bleeding, who do I believe in? Looking through
Satan’s eyes, I start hating God for no reason
Why do I feel this way? Every day, living in
Darkness, I never ever see the bright of day. I hide
Away from the sun and come out at night, squeeze
Squeeze the steel tight ‘cause if it ain’t real, it ain’t right
Now I’m up to no good, big shorty from the hood
Almost died twice, but I don’t think that I could. Last
Five years, did five bids. I hope I don’t have to do a 25-
-to-life bid. I gotta live, gotta feel the braille
Locked in jail, cut a nigga throat to get a cell
Black DOOM, Black DOOM, getting it done in a room, selling
Crack boom, crack boom from the sun to the moon
[Verse 3: MF DOOM]
Big up. The jig is up. Swig up
Chop a nigga up, but first have him schedule a pick up
If you ask me, they’re all a bunch of sick pups
Always seem to repeat the same stuff like hiccups
Nowadays, the game is all bugged out
Phony like back when Hammer tried to come thugged out
Stop it. He pulled files like Coppit
Out from under the feet of the clowns that pop shit
Nasty like spit the verse and go gargle
Don’t fit no type of profile psychological
Any last words? Time’s up like Boggle
The Supervillain run ‘em like Hamburglar, “Robble robble!”
Another one asked him, “Could I hold the microphone?”
He said, “Sorry, my brother. You gots to get your own!”
Set the tone even though he’s already known
When he get the rock, he rock on like Shep Pettibone
On the downstroke, “Good day, townsfolk!
Thank you for your vote, and you all get a pound of smoke!”
The dro soon to blow. Don’t make ‘em wait ‘til noon to know
The Villain’s been doing flows since many, many moon ago
Some quote scriptures, but parrots quote. Grimm scriptures
Are made from scratch, my mind floats, and I got
War scars, war scrapes from war skits, rhymes
Souped-up like lentil to show my mental is not accidental
My world revolves ‘cause it’s autocratic
My guns revolve, but some are automatic
Vision beyond the optical needed when living prodigal
Sleep with third eye open or get clipped like a cuticle
Conditional choices stable or critical
“Who lives? Who dies? Who strives?” is so political
Young street champs stripped of belts in pistol title shots
Heavyweight division, K.O.’s, no split decisions
Giuliani referees this hellhole, but he don’t give a
Fuck, so there’s cuts, headbutts, and elbows
Drug sweeps, bullets fly, bloods splot blotches
Thugs creep, niggas died, tortured, held hostage
Actions brutal beyond belief but authentic
Rhymes genuine, thoughts are anti-synthetic
Attempt to get Jurassic, plant shit back prehistoric
Roach niggas are morbid from my acid thoughts of boric
Kidnapped, snatched, ran off, no self-extortion
Shit’s Creek, they seek demands of financial portions
Six Million Dollars, nigga, like you’re Steve Austin
‘Cause if they really love you, that’s how much love is costing
Or death will be puzzled. Jigsaw fate, chopped
Up, distributed body parts in different states
Take you to spots that nobody knows
Curiosity grows as you decompose
[Verse 2: Megalon]
Lord
Have mercy, Percy. Bagged up in Jersey, but don’t curse me
Six million ways to die, but none of them could hurt me. Aw
Fuck! I’m stuck in the desert, and I’m thirsty. Call-
-ing Black Jesus, “Help! Red Devils disturbing me!” but I’ma
Rise. Look into my eyes. It’s hard to survive when your mother and father
Dies. You try suicide, but all you do is cry, wrist
Bleeding, who do I believe in? Looking through
Satan’s eyes, I start hating God for no reason
Why do I feel this way? Every day, living in
Darkness, I never ever see the bright of day. I hide
Away from the sun and come out at night, squeeze
Squeeze the steel tight ‘cause if it ain’t real, it ain’t right
Now I’m up to no good, big shorty from the hood
Almost died twice, but I don’t think that I could. Last
Five years, did five bids. I hope I don’t have to do a 25-
-to-life bid. I gotta live, gotta feel the braille
Locked in jail, cut a nigga throat to get a cell
Black DOOM, Black DOOM, getting it done in a room, selling
Crack boom, crack boom from the sun to the moon
[Verse 3: MF DOOM]
Big up. The jig is up. Swig up
Chop a nigga up, but first have him schedule a pick up
If you ask me, they’re all a bunch of sick pups
Always seem to repeat the same stuff like hiccups
Nowadays, the game is all bugged out
Phony like back when Hammer tried to come thugged out
Stop it. He pulled files like Coppit
Out from under the feet of the clowns that pop shit
Nasty like spit the verse and go gargle
Don’t fit no type of profile psychological
Any last words? Time’s up like Boggle
The Supervillain run ‘em like Hamburglar, “Robble robble!”
Another one asked him, “Could I hold the microphone?”
He said, “Sorry, my brother. You gots to get your own!”
Set the tone even though he’s already known
When he get the rock, he rock on like Shep Pettibone
On the downstroke, “Good day, townsfolk!
Thank you for your vote, and you all get a pound of smoke!”
The dro soon to blow. Don’t make ‘em wait ‘til noon to know
The Villain’s been doing flows since many, many moon ago
more tracks from the album
From the albums
- The Downfall of Ibliys: A Ghetto Opera (2002)
- Best of MF (2003)