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No Chorus

This song is by Dr. Dooom and appears on the album First Come, First Served (1999).

Yeah...
You motherfuckers oughta let me go and finish this motherfuckin album
Dr. Dooom...
Name of this track is called "I Don't Want the Motherfuckin Chorus"
Whatever all the arrangements are we gon' go through
Fuck all the laws...

What the fuck was in your mind when you rapped on that track?
Who possessed you to do that? Who programmed - that shit sound wack
Unplug your mic
You motherfuckers rap under a bunch of fuckin' hype
Programmed by the company, makin' somethin' cheap
Vocals sound like a nigga with no dough and a promo;
Makin' asses out of yourselves, tryin' to rap solo
Suck my dick when you see me; avoid because you wanna be me
Y'all niggaz write like slouches puffin blunts on studio couches
What's up you fuckin' amateur?
Your engineer'll cue in your bullshit cadence
That shit sounds simple; look at this nigga rhymin to hisself
Wack as fuck, smell like shit for one buck
Big crews don't want it -- y'all get it worse
Which one of y'all motherfuckers is waitin for the mic first?
I hope your bitch is in the audience
Your wife too, that's your fanbase -- plus your DJ's in the place
I'm about to boo you, let it be fair; when you come off-stage
Ninety percent of the people that came on your guest list
Ain't gon' be there
A big dissapointment when I rub your asshole with a verbal ointment
Rappers actin' hard, nervous in the dressin room
With a security guard
Groupies standin round with they fuckin' face frowned
Lookin' like fuckin' Homey the Clown
Put that Spring Water down man, you ain't sweatin
You motherfuckers did a ten minute weak show and you jettin;
Your fans are mad - your performance was garbage bag
Look at these videotapes
Walkin' back and forth grabbin your nuts like the Planet of the Apes
Supervise it, criticize it, y'all don't realize it
Where the real guys at
Who's administrating your budget when you takin'
That high picture for Right On with your ballroom light on
You know the night is kind of special like Lauryn bro
When I escort you to your car, you breakout bastards
Leave the premises and reminisce on your rookie season
After you first started
You try to work hard and you never paid no dues
Like Cold Crush and Afrika Bambaata
You wack nigga, tryin' to act large in the video in Nevada
You fuckin' pink maggot; I'll take your mic, you can't have it
You niggaz be runnin' around with ears open like fuckin' bunny rabbits

That's right, Dr. Dooom
All you motherfuckers around the world sittin' in studios with your boys
Hypin your shit up
Motherfuckers don't wanna tell you that your shit is wack
Because they all yes men
Sittin' around, carryin your roadie cases
Bein your fuckin' cheerleaders
I'ma tell you straight, look in the fuckin' mirror, you wack
That shit don't sound right, your mixdown ain't right
Your vocals are too low... your fuckin' cadence is off
Stage show's weak... fuck you!

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