Always Talkin' Out Your Ass

[Dr. Dooom] Yeah, I've been around the motherfuckin world The fuck you know? Yo everybody wanna talk shit, when you make a new album It's not good as the last one How many have sold? See all them cheap-ass niggas that review your record Them suckers with fancy iPods, like a bitch they download And go on the internet like a booking agent asking you for a free show They destroyed the goodness like somebody pissin in the snow A bunch of underground groups, fuckin up the game Goin out with they ass out and a cheap-ass band For five hundred a night, that's the reason why hip-hop is dead Your venue is booked up, with circus clown acts That perform cheaply, in your local paper I see the same lame niggas in the Village Voice and the L.A. Weekly Doin them same bullshit gigs repeatedly These cats performin for cold cuts and juice backstage Need to stop immediately People that can't find your record, stop lyin, and go to Virgin Otherwise you should cut yourself in the face like a surgeon Always searchin on the web, like you spend money When the merchandise show up you got thin money [Chorus] Always talkin out yo' ass {*scratched: "shut the fuck up"*} [Dr. Dooom] I remember when chicks used to fuck a superstar Now they want you to meet they boyfriend and go home with them And meet they brother in the car And play some rapper who's tryin to be Kool Keith, that shit is bizarre They gettin sick on the floor on drugs like Anna Nicole Smith Vomitin every night; they takin it too far After I get off stage they wanna hop to another bar C'mon man~! I got one night in your town You're gonna play a bullshit guy on your CD that sound like I sound Promoters wanna talk shit and pull me down Pick me up from the airport in a bullshit truck and drop me off Bitch you ain't gotta take me around I find the mall, any way to rejuvenate "Is Keith gonna show up?" Oh you can hate Hippie Euro savin bastard, I was there live Right in London for two weeks with my fuckin outfit All these rumors how the fuck they get in your head? Where you hear this shit? I'm in Paris tonight I did, I quick and split [Chorus] - repeat 2X [Dr. Dooom] All them acts; y'all call them niggas Ain't no real showmen like bullshit rock bands With black t-shirts, what's creative about this? You tell me first These people supportin 'em wear tight-ass pants Skulls on they belt buckles be the worst I've been in three hundred million ten magazines What the fuck you gon' wait for me to die like James Brown To put me on the cover of Spin magazine? Pages out here that's full of untalented motherfuckers I've never seen Young editors with a dick in they mouth on the scene I'm your fuckin kid's dream, jewelry and a lot of pussy Already I feel like I play on a basketball team Whatever you don't like you can hate I know you a guy that just got the job cause you fuckin fake I take your chick out for dinner for a milkshake You name a rapper you like, I'm not funny at all duke I'll take a piss in his face [Chorus] - repeat 4X