MF DOOM — One Beer Madlib Remix

[Intro] I get no kick from champagne Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all So tell me why should it be true? I get a kick out of brew [Verse] There's only one beer left Rappers screaming all in our ears like we're deaf Tempt me, do a number on a label Eat up all they MC's and drink 'em under the table "It's on me. Put it on my tab kid." However you get there, foot it, cab it, iron horse it You're leavin on your face, forfeit Of course the mic, hold it like the heat, he might toss it Told her tell him they stole it - he told her he lost it She told him, "Get off it," and a bunch of other more shit Gettin money, D's be gettin no new leads It's like he eatin watermelon, spittin seed after seed It's the bleed, give me some of what he's droopin off Soon as he wake up, chokin like it was whoopin cough They group been soft First hour at the open bar and they're troopin off He went to go laugh and get some head by the side road She asked him autograph her derriere, read “Too Wide Load, this yard bird taste like fried toad turd Love, Villain.” Take pride in code words Crooked eye mold nerd geek with a cold heart Probably still be speakin in rhymes as a old fart Study how to eat to die, by the pizza guy No he's not too fly to skeet in a skeezer eye And squeeze her thigh, maybe give her curves a feel The same way she feel him when he flow with nerves of steel They call the super when they need some back... uhh... plumbing fixed "How it's only one left? The pack come in six! Whatever happened to two and three?" A herb tried to slide with four and five and got caught Like, "What you doing G? Don't make him have to get cuttin like truancy Matter fact, not for nothin, right now, you and me!" Looser than a pair of Adidas I hope you brought your spare tweeters MC's sound like cheerleaders Rappin and dancin like Redhead Kingpin DOOM came do the thing again, no matter who be blingin' He do it for the smelly hubbies Seeds know what time is it like it's time for Tellie Tubbies Few got it, even fewer can sell it Take it from the man who wear a mask like a 'tarded helmet He plot shows like robberies In and out, one, two, three, no bodies, please Run the cash and you won't get a wet sweatshirt Mic the shotty: nobody move, nobody get hurt Bring heat, like your boy done gone to war He came in the door, and "Everybody on the floor!" A whole string of jobs, like we on tour Every night on the score, comin to your corner store