Crosshairs

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 Hey Mr. Thundercleese! What's that you were singing? It is the Robotic Hymn of Doom Well I always say Nuttin' livens up a Robotic Hymn of Doom Better than AN AMAZING PAIR OF JUGS!