The Finest Lyrics
| Song | The Finest |
| Artist | MF Doom |
| Album | Operation: Doomsday |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Gunn, MF Doom | |
| As the life cycle goes on ... goes on | |
| And you learn to hold on (hold on) | |
| To things like the mic ... the mic | |
| And you learn to appreciate who is the nicest on said device | |
| But who is [the finest]? | |
| [Tommy Gunn] | |
| Time at shashuma, too much drama, blind behind the rumor | |
| Time and time and time, my mind, I'm trying to find a tumor | |
| Time at shashuma, no time for humor | |
| As soon as one of ya' men's dead in Hempstead, you trying to find Pumas | |
| Sooner the better, even knitted a sweater already | |
| Keep your leather, we coming through the brutal weather | |
| We ready to do whatever, yo' Doom you with it? | |
| (You know it like a poet, my brother) | |
| (Hey, Gunn you wit it?) Whatever... [the finest!] | |
| [MF Doom] | |
| I know about going paid to broke, to next day well-off | |
| To bust a shell off, to "*******-riders! Get the hell off!" | |
| Made a call to a client, he must've had his cell off | |
| A show-off, he has the same bite but fell off | |
| I tell off the bat, from science to pure facts | |
| Which *******z is wack 'til they last two tracks | |
| Matter fact, y'all could wait for the rep to tell | |
| The tall-tale, how he escape from out the depths of hell | |
| [Tommy Gunn] | |
| When die, he gon' die like a soldier die: | |
| Holding a swollen eye, drinking Olde Gold | |
| Smoking a stog, watching po-po patrol the beach | |
| Blowing my high, rolling by, when Gunn die | |
| He gon' try to preach the streets then go to the sky | |
| [MF Doom] | |
| Yup! That hold water, like drizzle in a paper cup | |
| This one etched in stone, the chisel with the paper up | |
| I need a cut: a taper-up, edge-up | |
| *******z can't measure up, I'm here to get the treasure up | |
| [Megalon] | |
| Stands up and hold 'em high, do or die | |
| He got heat, no surprise, stop the beat, close your eyes | |
| Got the *****, rolling lah | |
| Not sweet, so no demise, all the guys drops seeds so multiply | |
| Within the prophecies hold the lie | |
| [MF Doom] | |
| He bled my mother and my father, but can't bleed me | |
| OD, ghetto misery, he bled my brother, my sister, but can't bleed me | |
| A OG, ghetto misery, bled my mother, my father, but can't bleed ... | |
| Me ... sci-fly, whole style stuck up | |
| Used to talk to myself, I told him, "Shut the ******* up!" | |
| Buckle up, 'cause it's about to be rough | |
| He said, "Keep talking that **********t, you 'bout to be snuffed" | |
| Then we squashed it, I let em know: "Watch it -- | |
| We only met a time to join these rhymers in the mosh pit" | |
| Gosh, it feels great just to increase the chance | |
| For a ********** ******* face to hit the dance floor | |
| [Megalon] | |
| I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock, what? | |
| Now it's all good business, and so this ********** is locked up | |
| On the dance floor: you got knocked out, your ********** got knocked up | |
| Baby-face, and hey can you brand you, brand new machete | |
| Damn, I just shook your hand and can't stand you already | |
| Can't stand you, understand you deadly | |
| But my hammer's like a band, my man, it's Brand New and Heavy | |
| Yo' Doom, you ready? | |
| (Yeah! Yo' Gunn, you with it?) Whatever.. | |
| [MF Doom] | |
| Come on stay, I wrote this rhyme on my born-day | |
| Remind me of the same style I flipped on "Hey!" | |
| Yikes! Who can ******* with the likes | |
| Of one such who scores touchdown and spikes mic's | |
| Metal grill, with many styles, better still | |
| Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel | |
| And deal, and run rings around rhymers | |
| And run rings like number runners whose old-timers | |
| [Megalon] | |
| Shorty in the all black, she think she all that | |
| I called her, she said, "Don't call back!" | |
| She called me, now what you call that? | |
| Let's go back, I sold crack | |
| Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, tote that | |
| *******! Where that hoe at? Where that dough at? | |
| [MF Doom] | |
| Suffering succotash! This hooker broke into his last buck of cash | |
| He love her, mother******* her ass | |
| Metal feet dented your car fender | |
| My agenda up in the ba*****t party tipping the bartender | |
| Is unbeknownst to you -- who could get body blown? | |
| MF like Mike Fran Corleone | |
| And got it sown, maricon, like to know what you staring at? | |
| An invisible cat, who pull off a disappearing act | |
| Raised by a pack a wild wolves, it's like Sweetback | |
| Front? I'ma be back! (Like brothers in the street act) | |
| (Surrounded by a bunch a bad ******* like Sweetback) | |
| (******* with me I'll be back) | |
| Like *******z in the streets act (streets act!) |
| zuo ci : Gunn, MF Doom | |
| As the life cycle goes on ... goes on | |
| And you learn to hold on hold on | |
| To things like the mic ... the mic | |
| And you learn to appreciate who is the nicest on said device | |
| But who is the finest? | |
| Tommy Gunn | |
| Time at shashuma, too much drama, blind behind the rumor | |
| Time and time and time, my mind, I' m trying to find a tumor | |
| Time at shashuma, no time for humor | |
| As soon as one of ya' men' s dead in Hempstead, you trying to find Pumas | |
| Sooner the better, even knitted a sweater already | |
| Keep your leather, we coming through the brutal weather | |
| We ready to do whatever, yo' Doom you with it? | |
| You know it like a poet, my brother | |
| Hey, Gunn you wit it? Whatever... the finest! | |
| MF Doom | |
| I know about going paid to broke, to next day welloff | |
| To bust a shell off, to " riders! Get the hell off!" | |
| Made a call to a client, he must' ve had his cell off | |
| A showoff, he has the same bite but fell off | |
| I tell off the bat, from science to pure facts | |
| Which z is wack ' til they last two tracks | |
| Matter fact, y' all could wait for the rep to tell | |
| The talltale, how he escape from out the depths of hell | |
| Tommy Gunn | |
| When die, he gon' die like a soldier die: | |
| Holding a swollen eye, drinking Olde Gold | |
| Smoking a stog, watching popo patrol the beach | |
| Blowing my high, rolling by, when Gunn die | |
| He gon' try to preach the streets then go to the sky | |
| MF Doom | |
| Yup! That hold water, like drizzle in a paper cup | |
| This one etched in stone, the chisel with the paper up | |
| I need a cut: a taperup, edgeup | |
| z can' t measure up, I' m here to get the treasure up | |
| Megalon | |
| Stands up and hold ' em high, do or die | |
| He got heat, no surprise, stop the beat, close your eyes | |
| Got the , rolling lah | |
| Not sweet, so no demise, all the guys drops seeds so multiply | |
| Within the prophecies hold the lie | |
| MF Doom | |
| He bled my mother and my father, but can' t bleed me | |
| OD, ghetto misery, he bled my brother, my sister, but can' t bleed me | |
| A OG, ghetto misery, bled my mother, my father, but can' t bleed ... | |
| Me ... scifly, whole style stuck up | |
| Used to talk to myself, I told him, " Shut the up!" | |
| Buckle up, ' cause it' s about to be rough | |
| He said, " Keep talking that t, you ' bout to be snuffed" | |
| Then we squashed it, I let em know: " Watch it | |
| We only met a time to join these rhymers in the mosh pit" | |
| Gosh, it feels great just to increase the chance | |
| For a face to hit the dance floor | |
| Megalon | |
| I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock, what? | |
| Now it' s all good business, and so this is locked up | |
| On the dance floor: you got knocked out, your got knocked up | |
| Babyface, and hey can you brand you, brand new machete | |
| Damn, I just shook your hand and can' t stand you already | |
| Can' t stand you, understand you deadly | |
| But my hammer' s like a band, my man, it' s Brand New and Heavy | |
| Yo' Doom, you ready? | |
| Yeah! Yo' Gunn, you with it? Whatever.. | |
| MF Doom | |
| Come on stay, I wrote this rhyme on my bornday | |
| Remind me of the same style I flipped on " Hey!" | |
| Yikes! Who can with the likes | |
| Of one such who scores touchdown and spikes mic' s | |
| Metal grill, with many styles, better still | |
| Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel | |
| And deal, and run rings around rhymers | |
| And run rings like number runners whose oldtimers | |
| Megalon | |
| Shorty in the all black, she think she all that | |
| I called her, she said, " Don' t call back!" | |
| She called me, now what you call that? | |
| Let' s go back, I sold crack | |
| Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, tote that | |
| ! Where that hoe at? Where that dough at? | |
| MF Doom | |
| Suffering succotash! This hooker broke into his last buck of cash | |
| He love her, mother her ass | |
| Metal feet dented your car fender | |
| My agenda up in the ba t party tipping the bartender | |
| Is unbeknownst to you who could get body blown? | |
| MF like Mike Fran Corleone | |
| And got it sown, maricon, like to know what you staring at? | |
| An invisible cat, who pull off a disappearing act | |
| Raised by a pack a wild wolves, it' s like Sweetback | |
| Front? I' ma be back! Like brothers in the street act | |
| Surrounded by a bunch a bad like Sweetback | |
| with me I' ll be back | |
| Like z in the streets act streets act! |
| zuò cí : Gunn, MF Doom | |
| As the life cycle goes on ... goes on | |
| And you learn to hold on hold on | |
| To things like the mic ... the mic | |
| And you learn to appreciate who is the nicest on said device | |
| But who is the finest? | |
| Tommy Gunn | |
| Time at shashuma, too much drama, blind behind the rumor | |
| Time and time and time, my mind, I' m trying to find a tumor | |
| Time at shashuma, no time for humor | |
| As soon as one of ya' men' s dead in Hempstead, you trying to find Pumas | |
| Sooner the better, even knitted a sweater already | |
| Keep your leather, we coming through the brutal weather | |
| We ready to do whatever, yo' Doom you with it? | |
| You know it like a poet, my brother | |
| Hey, Gunn you wit it? Whatever... the finest! | |
| MF Doom | |
| I know about going paid to broke, to next day welloff | |
| To bust a shell off, to " riders! Get the hell off!" | |
| Made a call to a client, he must' ve had his cell off | |
| A showoff, he has the same bite but fell off | |
| I tell off the bat, from science to pure facts | |
| Which z is wack ' til they last two tracks | |
| Matter fact, y' all could wait for the rep to tell | |
| The talltale, how he escape from out the depths of hell | |
| Tommy Gunn | |
| When die, he gon' die like a soldier die: | |
| Holding a swollen eye, drinking Olde Gold | |
| Smoking a stog, watching popo patrol the beach | |
| Blowing my high, rolling by, when Gunn die | |
| He gon' try to preach the streets then go to the sky | |
| MF Doom | |
| Yup! That hold water, like drizzle in a paper cup | |
| This one etched in stone, the chisel with the paper up | |
| I need a cut: a taperup, edgeup | |
| z can' t measure up, I' m here to get the treasure up | |
| Megalon | |
| Stands up and hold ' em high, do or die | |
| He got heat, no surprise, stop the beat, close your eyes | |
| Got the , rolling lah | |
| Not sweet, so no demise, all the guys drops seeds so multiply | |
| Within the prophecies hold the lie | |
| MF Doom | |
| He bled my mother and my father, but can' t bleed me | |
| OD, ghetto misery, he bled my brother, my sister, but can' t bleed me | |
| A OG, ghetto misery, bled my mother, my father, but can' t bleed ... | |
| Me ... scifly, whole style stuck up | |
| Used to talk to myself, I told him, " Shut the up!" | |
| Buckle up, ' cause it' s about to be rough | |
| He said, " Keep talking that t, you ' bout to be snuffed" | |
| Then we squashed it, I let em know: " Watch it | |
| We only met a time to join these rhymers in the mosh pit" | |
| Gosh, it feels great just to increase the chance | |
| For a face to hit the dance floor | |
| Megalon | |
| I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock, what? | |
| Now it' s all good business, and so this is locked up | |
| On the dance floor: you got knocked out, your got knocked up | |
| Babyface, and hey can you brand you, brand new machete | |
| Damn, I just shook your hand and can' t stand you already | |
| Can' t stand you, understand you deadly | |
| But my hammer' s like a band, my man, it' s Brand New and Heavy | |
| Yo' Doom, you ready? | |
| Yeah! Yo' Gunn, you with it? Whatever.. | |
| MF Doom | |
| Come on stay, I wrote this rhyme on my bornday | |
| Remind me of the same style I flipped on " Hey!" | |
| Yikes! Who can with the likes | |
| Of one such who scores touchdown and spikes mic' s | |
| Metal grill, with many styles, better still | |
| Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel | |
| And deal, and run rings around rhymers | |
| And run rings like number runners whose oldtimers | |
| Megalon | |
| Shorty in the all black, she think she all that | |
| I called her, she said, " Don' t call back!" | |
| She called me, now what you call that? | |
| Let' s go back, I sold crack | |
| Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, tote that | |
| ! Where that hoe at? Where that dough at? | |
| MF Doom | |
| Suffering succotash! This hooker broke into his last buck of cash | |
| He love her, mother her ass | |
| Metal feet dented your car fender | |
| My agenda up in the ba t party tipping the bartender | |
| Is unbeknownst to you who could get body blown? | |
| MF like Mike Fran Corleone | |
| And got it sown, maricon, like to know what you staring at? | |
| An invisible cat, who pull off a disappearing act | |
| Raised by a pack a wild wolves, it' s like Sweetback | |
| Front? I' ma be back! Like brothers in the street act | |
| Surrounded by a bunch a bad like Sweetback | |
| with me I' ll be back | |
| Like z in the streets act streets act! |
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