Crosshairs

The fat is in the fire, a fryer made of chicken wire
Gettin' sick and tired of a friggin' liar
Pelican, with some very soft mangos
A closet full of skeletons and terry cloth Kangols
Flew the coop, before you hit it, let me warn you
She did a cool hula-hoop, but don't get any on you
It's all a big scam to make y'all eat pig ham
When he's on the mic, he's like the triggerman, FIGJAM

DOOM, not to be confused with nobody
Especially, since the flows he used was so nutty
Never too woozy to go study, crews got no clues
Like old cruddy Officer McGillicuddy
Watch your six, he got a lotta more tricks
Lyrics, bricks on sticks, sure got raw-nytics
It's a gift, don't get shot for kicks
With the same slick used to plot sick vics with

Spotted at a chick flick, holdin' hands
The other one on his swollen glans, a golden chance
That's why he kept them holes in his pants
Rollin' in a old van, is what he told his stolen fans
Is that you? True, matched from hat to shoe
Snafu, snatch any brew, LaBatt's Blue
Black Jew like that's new, patch me through
No latch attached, skat shoo, catch twenty-two

Super, he's loaded dice nice
And overpriced, a arm and a leg, owe 'em your life or your ice
Villain, nag a grievin' old hag
Snag a bragger by his mic cord and leave him holdin' the bag
Come clean, a bunch of dumb mean cream puffs
A keen drum machine buff, who fiends for more green stuff
Instead of starvin', there be problems by the goo gobs
Aight, somebody's robbin' Lou Dobbs and them tonight

And he's on the next flight, moon bound
And makes it a point to stay away from the goon pound
Got some peers that's gone in the lost years
Tears and cheers, born in the crosshairs

Hey, Mr. Thundercleese, what's that you were singin'?
It is the Robotic Hymn of Doom
Well, I always say
Nothin' livens up a Robotic Hymn of Doom
Better than an amazin' pair of jugs!