[MF Doom]   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 mangoes   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, fig jam   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 lot of 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 vicks with   Spotted at a chick flick, holdin hands   The other one on his swollen glands, 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; homey life or your ice   Villain, nag a grieving old hag   Snag a bragger by his mic cord and leave him holding 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      [Brak]   Hey Mr. Thundercleese!   What's that you were singing?      [Thundercleese]   It is the Robotic Hymn of Doom      [Brak]   Well I always say   Nuttin livens up a Robotic Hymn of Doom   better than AN AMAZING PAIR OF JUGS!