"Livin' in the Eighth Dimension"
The Council of Doom
beat by ZBL

MAD
Get a lift to the lab if you got the gift of gab
Lay down tracks, train to spray out facts, and then tab
Leave a little space for breathin', give me reason to breeze in
I'll blow away your weakness, I freak this, I'm pleasin'
Crowds who come around to hear my sound, crabs who steal it
I'm like the masked magician, I know your style I reveal it
Slabs of concrete which meet the street curb your intentions
This is Where the Sidewalk Ends, the Eight Dimension
I'm Banzai on the mic- watermelon- you're in your Shel
You're A Boy Named Sue and Sheep and Doc is Raisin' Hell
I waited too long to not let you hear my song
And like the break-dancing robot I won't heed that gong
Hold me back? Wrong. My rhyme rocks I'm dealing
And with the D-O-C I breach every glass ceiling
I'm appealing to your intellect, my comedy is tragic
Try to understand... the Sheep is magic

DOC You go Buckaroo, they don't wanna f--- with you
MAD That's right, we keep it tight, yo Doc what's up with you?
DOC I'm livin' in the eighth dimension, Shouldn't have to mention
DOC You wanna learn somethin'? Pay attention

MAD
Contention is not what you want with my engine
I move too fast, I like my Tetris from Tengen
I rotate left and write rhymes too tight, too white
Is what they say and what they said was too bright
I'm too smart for those ign'ant ass emcees
I moved right past, I didn't ask them please
Jake Pease will pass them peas just like they used to say
Hey, yo, Doc Manhattan, what you got to say?

MAD
Just give me a beat, don't need expensive material
My first mic was a prize at the bottom of my cereal
Less than three hundred years, democracy turns imperial
33 revolutions per minute, so hear me y'all

DOC
He is John Manhattan, I am John Bigdreams
Together we're purveyors of societal memes
My team's samplin' Metroid and livin' like Lectroids
And blowin' up the spot like we was all red droids

DOC You go Buckaroo, they don't wanna fuck with you
MAD That's right, we keep it tight, yo Doc what's up with you?
DOC I'm livin' in the eight dimension, Shouldn't have to mention
DOC You wanna learn somethin'? Pay attention

DOC
You think you hold the title, but you lost a game of pickup
'Cause you rhyme like a kid with Tourette's and the hiccups
I said, "Throw ya hands up", the crowd thought it was a stickup
But when they played 'Stairway', everybody lit they Bic up
I'm like Ad-Rock, tryin' to put the padlock on rap-rock
Got the Senior Center jumpin' with that guest spot on Matlock
The Doc ain't scared rock for octogenarians
In fact, I rhyme antidisestablishmentarian 

MAD
Me fail English? That's unpossible
My Suburban Grammar styles are unstoppable
I'm copable, madsheep@ititches.com
The girlies swappable, why can't the bitches be calm?

DOC
You dream you're blowin up like a flight over Lockerbie
But the truth is your styles are more like a sad mockery
Tryin' to entertain with your simplistic linguistics
You're like an all-pork restaurant in the diamond district

return to the Doom


2002 Seafood Cheeselog Trio