lirik lagu young sasha - doom fm
[intro]
you look like you have one more thought
who me?
yeah
i did, i was just gonna tell you that i know what you were thinking about, mike flint today, it was the old mf doom line, “snitches tellin’ all their business sitting in court and being their own star witness.”
you’re making me look really bad with my rap lyrics, thanks, mike
you know, first of all, luca for the win, ftw, as the kids say. and also i ~~ i wasn’t sure but i had this feeling through the satellite you had one more thing, and you did, and we appreciate you for that, sir, and shelby. thank you both
okay
up ahead
[verse]
nowadays, all i seem to do is homework
the world’s mine to conquer the second i hit a growth spurt
it’s a process of manifest~ee~ation
many said he staged it to ban the investigation
in all further proclamations
doomsday operations with a doctor’s patience
and could you please refer a surgeon
meet the nurse virgin who was worser~er in person
rehearsing words in persian, i’m in french immersion (okay)
i wanna learn persian (how ’bout you just stop talking?)
or maybe speak some spanish
me without a language is like peace without the anguish
and keep the pizza out the frigidaire
a couple spare blueprints like the villain was an engineer (that’s cool)
sicker than your last fever
if you milk the cow, then you’re only half a litre
i guess it’s best to go vegan
i spent the whole evening fresh vegetable squeezing
food, doom got it for like half the price
war master, throw the kids off like human sacrifice
don’t leave me hanging off the cliff
satanist with zombie bits dangling off the spliff
(i don’t do drugs, i run track)
inhale, the grass is greener
yeah, yeah, nice to meet ya
your ass getting subpoenaed (holy sound effects)
no need to front, there’s no mercy
my foes shiver more than those going cold turkey
still, i’d rather have a hot chicken plate
hopped off the scale and said, “it’s popsicle weight” (okay, i’m leaving)
wait, he’s a menace to sobriety
and way harder to find than the definition of irony
tyrant, please, no more talking
all it is is one more nail in the ~cough~ ~cough~
it’s the number one track~runner
always spittin’ rad sh~t no matter what’s the track number
whether it be one, two, three, or four, either or
i’ll always keep a mic like they keep the score
jesus lord, save me from my sanity
a villain with the sword playing scars against humanity
that’s at least until he blanks
the sh~t he puts in banks couldn’t fit in aquarium tanks
or a small town, for that matter
hard, like how a fat b~st~rd hit the ground like crack splatter
i suggest you shut your chatterbox
after all, you getting outsold like a pack of socks
sasha rocks sandals like the classic old white man
leave your mouth ajar like grandmama’s old nightstand
known to hold a mic in his right hand
you wanna know the purpose of the left?
well, aight then
well, aight then
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