Potholderz (feat. Count Bass D)-MF DOOM/Count Bass D

[00:00.000][Intro] [00:00.973](Hot shit) (Aww shit) [00:19.688]I strive to be humble, lest I stumble [00:21.999]Never sold a jumbo or copped chicken with its mumbo [00:24.867]Sauce, Tyson is a fowl holocaust [00:27.502]Hitler gassed your whole head up with poultry, I'm fed up [00:30.287]Ignore cordon bleu, stand up, get up [00:33.152]Lunge for your knife, don't forget your potholders [00:37.239](Hot shit) [00:38.029]What, these old things? About to throw 'em away [00:41.325]With the gold rings that make 'em don't fit like OJ [00:44.487]Usually I take them off with Oil of Olay [00:46.580]MCs is crabs in a barrel, pass the Old Bay [00:49.672]Hot as hell and it's a cold day, innit? [00:52.214]Working on a way that we can roll away tinted [00:54.858]Some say the price of holding heat is often too high [00:57.990]You either be in a coffin or you be the new guy [01:00.839]The one that's too fly to eat shoo pie [01:03.672]Never too busy when it comes down to you and I [01:06.277](Swear to God) A lot of niggas wish to die [01:08.636]They need to hold they horses, there's bigger fish to fry [01:11.496]You're on the list, if not, pick a number spot [01:14.645]Ten and a half Timbs is made to kick your bumba claat [01:17.276]I coulda had a V-8 [01:19.889]F-150 quad cab but I'll be straight [01:22.757]Money comes and goes like that two bit hussy [01:25.353]That night that tried to rush me, Dwight, pass the dutchie [01:28.221]So I can calm down so they don't get it twisted [01:30.817]Take it from the fire side, it won't get blistered [01:33.679]Got it, what happened? Oh, it's not lit [01:36.453]These metal fingers be holding (Hot shit) [01:38.948] [01:39.219][Verse 3: Count Bass D] [01:39.474]When I was four, I penned "God Was Born In New York" [01:41.562]Back in '77, still got nan in the crescent [01:44.427]The effervescence of God's presence is thick [01:46.235]Unlike vapor, Esther Rolle, extra raw, word to the baker [01:49.878]Peace to the hardworkin' gingerbread makers [01:52.756]Looked her up and down; said, "Hmm, too much makeup" [01:55.602]Poor music taste, ten years from being grown up [01:58.456]Rappers don't blow up, heads do (Aww, shit) [02:01.069]My name is Dwight Spitz, I'm a Sonic addict [02:03.970]I use to think it was merely a nagging habit [02:06.582]Born under a bad sign, I'm serious about this curse of mine [02:09.701]I strive to flip it into fine wine [02:12.072]"Barely born a virgin" is what the stars said [02:14.660]Black not white, red all over, though, like Elmo [02:17.803]Twenty-eight years have passed, I feel I'm peaking [02:20.167]I make music every weekend [02:22.758]It's a chore, a fact of life, a labor of love [02:25.623]I get mad love, but I detest the labor [02:28.455]And its wages—you know, death? [02:30.533]I'm servin' life from this gift of God [02:32.601]Don't forget your potholders, my niggas [02:35.237] [02:35.767][Outro] [02:37.858](More hot shit) [02:41.494](More hot shit) [02:44.080](More hot shit) [03:03.169]A short time later