MF Doom Feat. Count Bass D - Potholderz lyrics

rate me

Hot shit, aw shit, hot shit, aw shit<br />

Hot shit, aw shit, hot shit<br />

Hot shit, aw shit, hot shit, aw shit<br />

Hot shit, aw shit<br />

<br />

I strive to be humble lest I stumble, never sold a jumbo<br />

Or copped chicken with its mumbo sauce<br />

Tyson is a fowl holocaust<br />

Hitler gassed your whole head up with poetry I'm fed up<br />

Ignore Cordon Bleu, stand up, get up<br />

Lunge for your knife; don't forget your potholderz<br />

<br />

Hot shit, what? These old things? About to throw them away<br />

With the gold rings that make 'em don't fit like O.J.<br />

Usually I take them off with Oil of Olay<br />

MC's is crabs in a barrel, pass the old bay<br />

<br />

Hot as hell and it's a cold day in it<br />

Working on a way that we go roll away tinted<br />

Some say the price of holdin’ heat is often too high<br />

You either be in a coffin or you be the new guy<br />

<br />

The one that's too fly to eat shoe pie, never too busy<br />

Never too busy when it comes down to you and I<br />

Swear to God, a lot of niggaz wish to die<br />

They need to hold their horses, there's bigger fish to fry<br />

<br />

You're on the list, if not pick a number spot<br />

Ten and a half timbs is made to kick your bumbaclaat<br />

I could have had a V-8<br />

F-150 quad cab but I'll be straight<br />

<br />

Money comes and goes like that two bit hussy<br />

That night that tried to rush me, Dwight, pass the dutchie<br />

So I can calm down so they don't get it twisted<br />

Take it from the fire side it won't get blistered<br />

Got it, what happened? Oh, it's not lit<br />

These metal fingers be holding hot shit<br />

<br />

When I was four I pen God was born in New York<br />

Back in seventy seven still got nan in the crescent<br />

The effervescence of God's presence is thick<br />

Unlike vapor, escarole, extra roll, word to the baker<br />

Peace to the hard workin’ ginger bread makers<br />

<br />

Looked her up and down, said, “Hmm, too much makeup”<br />

Poor music taste, ten years from being grown up<br />

Rappers don't blow up heads, do, aw shit<br />

<br />

My name is Dwight Spits, I'm a Sonic addict<br />

I use to think it was merely a nagging habit<br />

Born under a bad sign, I'm serious about this curse of mine<br />

I strive to flip it into fine wine<br />

<br />

Barely born a virgin is what the stars said<br />

Black not white, red all over though like Elmo<br />

Twenty eight years have passed, I feel I'm peakin’<br />

I make music every weekend<br />

<br />

It's a chore, a fact of life, a labor of love<br />

I get mad love but I detest the labor<br />

And its wages, you know death<br />

I'm servin’ life on this gift of God<br />

Don't forget your potholderz, my niggaz<br />

<br />

Mo' hot<br />

Mo' hot shit<br />

Mo' hot shit