"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