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The Finest Feat. Tommy Gunn [Explicit]
MF Doom feat. Tommy Gunn
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The-, the finest
As the life cycle goes on (goes on)
And you learn to hold on (hold on)
To things like the mic (the mic)
And you learn to appreciate who's the nicest (appreciate)
On said device, but who is (the finest)
Tommy Tashuma, too much drama, blind behind the rumor
Time and time and time, my mind, I'm trying to find a tumor
Tommy Tashuma, no time for humor
As soon as one of ya men's dead in Hempstead, you trying to find Pumas
Sooner the better, even knitted a sweater already, keep your leather
We comin' through the brutal weather, we ready to do whatever
Yo, DOOM, you with it? You know it like a poet, my brother
Hey, Gunn, you with it? Whatever (the finest)
I know about going paid to broke to next day well-off
To bust a shell off, to dick-riders, "Get the hell off"
Made a call to a client, he must've had his cell off
A show-off, he has the same bike Puff fell off
I tell off the bat from science to pure facts
Which niggas is wack 'til they last two tracks?
Matter fact, y'all could wait for the rep to tell
The tall tale how he escaped from out the depths of hell
When die, he gon' die like a soldier die, holding a swollen eye
Drinking Olde Gold, smoking a stog
Watching po-po patrol the beach, blowing my high, rolling by
When Gunn die, he gon' try to preach the streets then go to the sky
Yup! That hold water, like drizzle in a paper cup
This one etched in stone, the chisel with the paper up
I need a cut, a taper-up, edge-up
Niggas can't measure up, I'm here to get the treasure up
Hands up, hold 'em high, do or die, he got heat, no surprise
Stop the beat, close your eyes, got the weed, rolling lye
Not sweet so no demise, all the guys drops seeds to multiply
Whatever the prophecies hold to lie (let's go!)
He bled my mother, my father, but can't bleed me
OD, ghetto misery
He bled my brother, my sister, but can't bleed me
A OG, ghetto misery
Bled my mother, my father, but can't bleed me
Sci.Fly, whole style stuck up
Used to talk to myself, I told him, "Shut the fuck up!"
Buckle up, 'cause it's about to be rough
He said, "Keep talking that shit, you 'bout to be snuffed"
Then we squashed it, I let 'em know, "Watch it"
We only met a time to join these rhymers in the mosh pit"
Gosh, it feels great just to increase the chance
For a pussy nigga face to hit the dance floor
I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock, what?
Now it's all good business, and so this bitch is locked up
On the dance floor, you got knocked out, your bitch got knocked up
Babyface, they can you, brand you, brand-new machete
Damn, I just shook your hand and can't stand you already
Can't stand you, understand you deadly
But my hammer's like a band, my man, it's Brand New and Heavy
Yo, DOOM, you ready? Yeah, yo, Gunn, you with it? Whatever
Come on stay, I wrote this rhyme on my born day
Remind me of the same style I flipped on, hey
Yikes! Who can fuck with the likes
Of one such who scores touchdown and spikes mics?
Metal grill, with many styles, better still
Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel
And deal, and run rings around rhymers
And run rings like number runners whose old-timers
Shorty in the all black, she think she all that
I called her, she said, "Don't call back!"
She called me, now what you call that?
Let's go back, I sold crack
Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, toke that
Fuck! Where that ho at? Where that dough at?
Suffering succotash, this hooker broke into his last buck of cash
He love her, motherfuck her ass
Metal feet dented your car fender
My agenda up in the basement party tipping the bartender
Is unbeknownst to you, who could get body blown?
MF like Mike Fran Corleone
And got it sown, mar icon, like to know what you staring at?
An invisible cat, who pull off disappearing act
Raised by a pack of wild wisdoms like Sweetback
Front? I'ma be back
Like brothers in the street act
Surrounded by a bunch of bad bitches like Sweetback
Fuck with me, I'll be back like niggas in the streets act (streets act)
(Of black misery)
(The finest)
(Of black misery)
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