Tokyo Damage Report

New Rapping Lyrics; M.D.C. (More Dead Celebrities)

still finishing the music but for now here’s just the lyrics.

M.D.C. MORE DEAD CELEBRITIES

your heart is black with rage and pain
your music is wack like Dave Mustaine
wrecking your brain with oxycontin
fucked up your teeth like Jhonny Rotten
i ain’t forgotten about Joey Ramone
between him and Sean MacGowan they got one molar
your brother’s a whore, like David Lee Roth
motherfuckers can’t see me like Jimmy Hoffa
like John Maclaughlin my style’s baffling, like
a world where ‘hobbit’ and ‘halflings’ are antonyms.
wanna battle him? wanna slather him with demi glace?
your mama’s fanny graced with more moles than Lemmy’s face!!
yo in any case, it’s remarked that you’re a whore’s son
chewing your vomit not unlike Jim Morrison
i swear on Mi Corazon, i’m sick of your yik-yak!
go ask Jayne County where your dick at
with a thick stack of Pitbull / Mike Vic slash fic
for a quick jack to the sick acts
i ain’t dig that, (BDP: ‘that’s wick wack!’),
motherfucker git back before i click-clack
you’re about to have a mishap
it’s behavior such as this that
makes you the object lesson of many a Chick Tract.
consider a tic-tac, your breath makes me nervous
i know you ain’t smell like Big Lurch on purpose
Odor like you had thirds-of orangutan po’boys
your deviated septum is quite David Bovoid
your shape is ovoid like the Loaf of Meat
the Buffy of gnocchi you can not un-eat
history is replete with lessons of woe,
your story is worse than Kevin DuBrow
just lettin’ you know , you blow like a homecomiING queen
catch a dick in your neck like Bruce Springsteen
((*steve albini voice* really, right in the side of the neck, it just came out of nowhere. . . . like some PUD BLOWPIPE was in effect))

in your dreams i bring-scenes of doom like a harbinger
starvin ya to death like uh Karen Carpenter.  Fuck a viral
marketer, go market Ebola, ya fad pimp!
fuck white power too ; i pummel skins like Abaddon
insane like Aladdin, your pain gives me a sad-on
ladies don’t love me but i don’t have to keep my hat on.
go eat fifteen asses, eat around about ten dicks
i’ll set you on fire like  take a wild guess, Sherlock.
rupture your appendix with a fossilized gopher
your self esteem’s just a fantasy like Aldo Nova
i cross over like Run-D. and Aerosmith
a cross between carelessness and total embarassment
unlike Kyle from Incantation you got a hairless lip
all the fads and the brands, i’m on the couldn’t-care-less-tip
in all fairness, bitch, the point is moot
instamatic Nirvana, just point and shoot
wear a haz-mat suit when you see-mee-whylin’
i’m side-arming that dook like . . . uhh .. .

(aw, fuck! who’s an old rocker who’s known to side-arm a deuce AND rhymes with see-me-whylin’?)

(Oh yeah! So obvious! Here we go )

. . . .  like P. D. Collins!

arcing pee-pee at Rollins and lackadasically fling
a string of semisolid sharts at the hated Sting
that’s one of the things you can call a ‘malice pooper’
as you swap codpieces with whom? (Alice Cooper)
you’re in it for lucre, you:re much inferior
not fit to lick the winklepickers of Lux Interior
you:re stuck on your period, whiny and bitchy
with a scrotum tattoo reading ‘Lionel Ritchie’?!?!
i:m fly and i:m spiffy like a young Adam Ant
i ain:t exposin myself officer these are ‘phantom pants’
you don:t stand a chance against a wendigo illin
with chainsaws for hands like WENDY O. WILLIAMS
you:re found dead in a building, it:s new and collapsing
me and Blixa Barge-field (sic) here to ruin your rapping
you knew it would happen you ain’t need Dionne Warwick
but you had to keep on talking that ignorant horse-shit
go stack in a tar-pit, ollie into some high-beams
two fingers up yours!!! just like Poly Styrene
probably visene will get your eyes back to normal
i’m not Snoop Lion i’m not a member of NORML
what IS this thing, ‘normal’? can you explain to me , Diddy?
is it looking for your chin and finding only pity?
treat the sophomore slump like it was the olympics
skip ‘iffy’, passs ‘shifty’ in a jiffy, and go straight to ‘shitty’
but on this mission you got stiff competition
like Discharge, the Meatmen, oh my God Bad Religion
“Into the Uknown” was not a rad decision
you know I ain’t missing, the annoying Die Kreuzen
can you be more dissapointing than Cypress Hill?
they fell off so fast it suprises me still!
like Schooly D, these rockers make me violently ill
manson shoulda ODed, why’d they siphon them pills?
yo i got the bomb ready to turn Tom Petty into
human confetti even your mom lately thinks there’s
something wrong with me, mas loco que el narcos.
fuck an embargo, the sanctions is Fargo
wood chipper spewing blood all over the yard snow
Huff-po right column saying WHERE’D THAT POP STAR GO? not to be
harsh though; i behead enemies! boycott my
band and scab myself like a one-man Dead Kennedys
i:m bent mentally, that’s word to George Michael
but more likeable, volunteer to sort recyclables!
picking up a rubik’s cube with a pooper scoop wearing
nothing but a jewler’s loupe riding an orange tricycle
while reading a forged encyclical from “pope” Knuckles the First
saying gays can get married (except you and Fred Durst)
i’m sorry you’re cursed to never be me-at-all
i never got beat on by Paul-y Shore at an Encino mall
you called realdoll and ordered a ‘flesh gandam’
i get HEAD! BAND! HEAD! , which is word to Seth Putnam
if they miss the ref, fuck’em, this ain’t meant for squares
who don’t know the sample should be, “head! band! HAIR!!!”
and it’s less than fair that money don’t make you baddest
your fame is ephemeral, just like your flattus
do i want all your status? shit no , screw all of this
plus your momma is a model for crypto-zooologists
ain’t no shinto apologist; the Emperor is a schmendrick
i keep my noggin Nina Hagen-level eccentric
freaky rockin authentic, don’t fuck with a gimmick
i’m just conducting this muscular butt-kicking clinic
mop you up in a minute, they call you the fall guy
’cause you got locked in a scrimmage with Popeye while he’s sucking his spinach
i admit it i’m vicious, I spit it
like the junkie bass player whose christian name ‘Sid’ is.
i’m as fit as your mistress, ice cream by the bucket
your marriage, don’t annul it  ’til you lap-band that gullet
you got a skullet cause your barber is Devin Townsend
it’s plenty arousin’, when the font end is moltin’
word to your three-way with Chronos and Bolton
it’s kind of revolting when you gape every orifice
now the Feds on your tail you’re like Waco..notorious!
can’t be certain what’s faker, your ass OR your tits
you should murder your surgeon like Jaco.. Pastorious
6 million boring discs, you sold 5 million downloads
4 roadies take your 3 inches on the down-low
your condom is a clown nose, balls like 2 rotten chickpeas,
your rider specifies 1.5 liters of dick-cheese
with a nondisclosure clause that’s permanent
i bathe in 1 tub of your blood just like Hermann Nitsch
zero permission slips, which is eqivalent to the
amount of my given shits ; negative macking hoes,
i couldn’t pull Anne Wilson even with a vaccum hose because i’m
not Axl Rose or even Billy Joel
but i’ll go Atilla on that ass like Cube (‘really doe!’)
motherfucker i’m swole, i’m ripped, I’m ‘cock Danzig’
plus my “cave-porn” name is Rock Manbig,
AKA Doc Samson with my green wig on
Gamma Knucks to your forehead, now your kids call you Klingon

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