KutMasta Kurt - Dr. Dooom's in the Room lyrics

Yeah, for the motherf**in 2000 In this mother Straight from Houston, Tex The motherf**in Dr. Dooom I'm shuttin rappers down like Guiliani shut down strip clubs Turnin your fake gangster hardcore stories Into some Mickey Mouse, Teletubbies sh** Y'all n***as need to quit, stop pullin your silicone tits And this city is my town Don't even f**in tryin to say a fly rhyme I'm holdin posessions you don't own And your cellular phone don't even f**in roam Y'all got the nerve to be standin in the hot rap zone Against somethin you can't afford Rappers be soundin bored at the show I need to start pullin your b**h-a** f**in extension cord s**ers be fakers, ATM pullin frauds I'm sendin two men, out to boo men Quick to get to y'all n***as like Western Union I'm comin like the fax machine I pour it on your whole team Y'all n***as ain't got time to scheme I'm out to shatter your f**in rap dreams Top to bottom, any angle, whatever your bullsh** mind think Your words gon' tangle Sound like sh** on a Tascan mix A bunch of y'all tracks need to be fixed Professionally, you sound like the dog Toto When I see Flex, I'mma ask him Why he playin a lot of records from a bunch of h*mos With feminine vocals I catch n***as when clubs are packed, rubbin elbows Tryin to whisper sh** in ugly b**hes earlobes Dr. Dooom callin wack n***as houses from the Radisson hotel room Penthouse suites, b**h n***as get 911 beeps I'm always hearin more softest MC's talk sh** about the streets f** your seedy impression of pain Ninety-nine percent of your sh** was normal One percent sound strange A&R's be s**in a lot of dick And spreadin they a** cheeks to get the hits Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up .. You couldn't rap with me if we was twins stuck together You be the deformed one, catchin the warm one I pay a crackhead five dollars To f** up your million dollar marketing plan With a brand new sub-machine gun And a hot dog, on a Yankee Stadium bun First cla** rates, hire Wall Street messengers To move your antique rap styles in milk crates Special delivery for all you motherf**ers Sportin hard boots with ashey faces tryin to get with me Y'all s**ers is amateurs, gettin f**ed up the a**holes By the top worst managers On the publishin deal, wipe my condoms off your Ampex reels No games to be played, you lookin f**in jiggy MC's with collared shirts and shoes tryin to duplicate Biggie No matter where, you only got one pair Alligators don't match with them f**in flares Who's doin your dress code, some old stank b**h With mascara touchin up your face on the road You feelin healthier, your rap audience Is only New York to Philadelphia Baltimore never even heard your f**in metaphor Shut the f** up, put your buck up, look at the dicks you s** up Maximum a** thoughts, you f**in get crushed Like the five o'clock train rush, sweaty as a motherf**er The best rapper can lick my a** I make your girl pick me up lick my s**m in your E-cla** Leave my diapers moist in the back seat of your Rolls Royce Stop your whole organization on Park Avenue and start laughin at you Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat You ain't the top rap in the country New jacks, you shoulda knew that From experience, you couldn't write from the beginnin Bookin studio time, with some scramblin concert sh** on your mind Who's crowd, the Blues feel my news Accurately in New York City There's a thousand motherf**ers tryin to rap and look pretty Save it for David Take that motherf**in rented ride back to Avis When it come to rap I'm the big motherf**er on the paylist Ridin the Amtrak, lookin at Billboard You need to be hung on a steel cord Sittin next to a Doberman, sh** in Harlem Any poodles on the mic, we gon' stop em I'm in the dressin room with the average b**h Lookin like Halle Berry, rubbin my nuts My fingers all up in her guts Watchin Monday Night Football with my dick all up in her bu*t MC's stand away when I pull out my mitt put your hand away Most of these fake hard rappers never seen the projects Live in f**in Pesquateway Scared, palm that away Why don't you ba*tards move back in the metro area The Marriott is the spot Where the prostitutes lick your Rolex watch Left you naked out with your stomach out Hangin out with c**aine on the dresser With a Puerto Rican girl with HIV from Parkchester You sniffin that sh** again Souped up from the neck up from the bu*tcrack up You need a f**in checkup Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat Dr. Dooom is in the room! Walkin up the street, with bare feet, eatin raw steak meat