His name's Doom
They wonder just who is he
But don't worry
Believe me he'll get Bizzy
When it comes to poetry he's got plenty
La la la
La la la la la

Jump em' in the jump rope, double Dutch
Then turn on the mic with a thumb stroke
Subtle touch, cuddle, clutch, is this thing on
Like the fling with Mrs. King Kong, this spring gone?
Sing a song of slaphappy crappiness
He came to blow like it was strapped to his nappy chest
Surely I jest, the best on a wireless mic not an eye test
Yet I digress
But why stress? Try an' remember when, maybe bit the tender skin-ned babysitter Gwendolyn
The type to hit and run and go tell a friend
Word to El Muerto cucaracha, exoskeleton
He know, flow, like inter stellar wind
Tow a rap Jinn, by his toe, into hell again
A-hem, one, two, check me too, loose wreck
See through, your gooseneck, EQ

His name's Doom
They wonder just who is he
But don't worry
Believe me he'll get Bizzy
When it comes to poetry he's got plenty
La la la
La la la la la

Eh, if I may interject?
Rap these days is like a pain up in the neck
Cornier, and phonier than a play fight
Take two of these and don't call me on a late night
The beat won't fail me, with more rhymes
Than times he washed his hands and feet daily
And all that kerosene ain't cheap, Villain been deep
Since a teenage creep, peep
He always was a gentleman
And kept the pen and a pencil in his mental den
Right there, next to where the Rolodex was
Before it turned up all burnt by his solar plexus
He don't know his own strength, when he's on the bone
It's like the microphones length, and width, ain't it funky like dingy socks?
Feel the full effect off cassette in your Benzie Box

His name's Doom
They wonder just who is he
But don't worry
Believe me he'll get Bizzy
When it comes to poetry he's got plenty
La la la
La la la la la

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Brian Joseph Burton, Daniel Dumile Thompson, Thomas Decarlo Callaway