Lyrics Microwave Mayo - Doom
Chain-smoking
beedies
'til
his
brain's
broken
completely
Get
back
on
his
feet,
work
out,
and
eat
some
Wheaties
Greedy
for
the
cheese,
please,
most
couldn't
fathom
Had
him
in
the
cobra
clutch
when
he
spat
the
mad
hymn
Gems,
collection
of
brrrrrrat's,
Timbs
and
hats
Had
no
time
for
the
pitty-pat,
I'll
give
him
that
The
rhythm
hit
him
back
with
a
right
Sit
off,
caught
a
shiner,
thought
it
was
an
aight
look
Depends
on
the
shades,
the
end
of
days
fades
Pretenders
lay
in
dazes
on
stages,
Du-malaise
Eat
it
up,
microphone,
microwave
mayonnaise
His
own
way
was
strange
but
it
matters
not
Tuned
into
a
frequency
tone
that
shattered
rock
Hold
it
down
like
Shatner
do
Spock
Rapper
jocks
need
to
put
a
sock
their
chatterbox
The
block
got
light
of
IOC
stock
Folks
gather
round,
it's
no
joke
like
"Knock,
knock"
It's
them,
they
came
home
to
roost
y'all
And
watch
'em
transform
the
game
to
the
rules
of
foosball
She's
too
small,
any
questions?
Him
could
squeeze
blood
from
a
penny
in
the
recession
Keep
guessing,
it
gets
deeper
than
depression
The
power
of
suggestion
wake
a
sleeper,
peep
the
lesson
Dig
that
beat
Ripped
it
with
Metal
Fingers
and
stomped
it
with
big
fat
feet
And
you
know
what
they
say,
cut
the
hay
Resistance
is
futile,
you
will
be
assimilated
But
today
it's
all
grey,
metallic
with
a
ruby
stone
Rude
like
the
type
of
dude
you
could
write
a
movie
on
Hardcore
porn,
did
his
own
stunts
Writ
his
own
rhymes
and
split
his
own
blunts
Once
in
a
while,
every
other
minute
Eyes
pop
out,
Popeye,
heavy
on
the
spinach
Steady
on
his
business
and
ready
with
an
ill
pitch
Keeps
a
bad
bilznitch
like
Denny
Kucimilznitch
No
hitch,
just
a
shit-load
of
spit
and
sneeze
Strictly
G
stacking
up
off
a
rack
of
hidden
fees
Rap
is
like
the
gay
club
strip
tease
With
hippies
on
the
yip
saying
"Hey
bub,
grip
these"
They
screaming
for
attention
Beaming
at
the
mention
of
a
scary
demon
convention
You
could
cut
the
tension
with
a
switchblade
And
serve
it
on
the
same
plate
of
hors
d'oeuvres
a
witch
made
Filleted,
persuaded
the
chambermaid
To
bet
her
paycheck
on
a
get-naked
game
of
spades
Straight
up,
no
chaser,
no
layaways
Caution,
faint
taste
of
microwave
mayonnaise
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