Lyrics One Beer - Madlib Remix - MF DOOM , Madlib

I get no kick from Champagne
Mere alcohol doesn't - thrill me at all
So tell me, why should it be true?
I get a kick out of brew

There's only one beer left
Rappers screaming all in our ears like we're deaf
Tempt me, do a number on a label
Eat up all they MC's and drink 'em under the table
It's on me, put it on my tab, kid
However, you get there, foot it, cab it, iron horse it

You're leavin' on your face, forfeit
Of course, the mic, hold it like the heat, he might toss it
Told her tell him they stole it, he told her he lost it
She told him, "Get off it," and a bunch of other more shit
Gettin' money, D's be gettin' no new leads
It's like he eatin' watermelon, spittin' seed after seed
It's the bleed, give me some of what he's droopin' off
Soon as he wake up, chokin' like it was whoopin' cough

They group been soft
First hour at the open bar and they troopin' off
He went to go laugh and get some head by the side road
She asked him autograph her derrière, read
Too wide load, this yard bird taste like fried toad turd love, villain
Take pride in code words, crooked eye mode, nerd, geek with a cold heart
Probably still be speakin' in rhymes as a old fart

Study how to eat to die, by the pizza guy
And he's not too fly to skeet in a skeezer eye
And squeeze her thigh, maybe give her curves a feel
The same way she feel him when he flow with nerves of steel

They call the super when they need some black, uh, plumbing fixed
How it's only one left? The pack come in six
Whatever happened to two and three?
A herb tried to slide with four and five and got caught
Like, "What you doing, G?"

Don't make him have to get cuttin' like truancy
Matter fact, not for nuttin', right now, you and me!
Looser than a pair of Adidas
I hope you brought your spare tweeters
MC's sound like cheerleaders
Rappin' and dancin' like Redhead Kingpin
DOOM came do the thing again, no matter who be blingin'

He do it for the smelly hubbies
Seeds know what time is it like it's time for Teletubbies
Few got it, and even fewer can sell it
Take it from the man who wear a mask like a 'tarded helmet
He plot shows like robberies
In and out, one, two, three, no bodies, please

Run the cash and you won't get a wet sweatshirt
Mic the shotty, nobody move, nobody get hurt
Bring heat, like the boy done gone to war
He came in the door, and "Everybody on the floor"
A whole string of jobs, like we on tour
Every night on the score, comin' to your corner store