Always Talkin' Out Your Ass Lyrics

[Dr. Dooom]
Yeah, I've been around the motherf**kin world
The f**k you know?

Yo everybody wanna talk shit, when you make a new album
It's not good as the last one
How many have sold? See all them cheap-ass niggaz that
review your record
Them suckers with fancy iPods, like a bitch they
And go on the internet like a booking agent asking you
for a free show
They destroyed the goodness like somebody pissin in the
A bunch of underground groups, f**kin up the game
Goin out with they ass out and a cheap-ass band
For five hundred a night, that's the reason why hip-hop
is dead
Your venue is booked up, with circus clown acts
that perform cheaply, in your local paper
I see the same lame niggaz in the Village Voice and the
L.A. Weekly
Doin them same bullshit gigs repeatedly
These cats performin for cold cuts and juice backstage
need to stop immediately
People that can't find your record, stop lyin, and go
to Virgin
Otherwise you should cut yourself in the face like a
Always searchin on the web, like you spend money
When the merchandise show up you got thin money

Always talkin out yo' ass
{*scratched: "shut the f**k up"*}

[Dr. Dooom]
I remember when chicks used to f**k a superstar
Now they want you to meet they boyfriend and go home
with them
and meet they brother in the car
And play some rapper who's tryin to be Kool Keith, that
shit is bizarre
They gettin sick on the floor on drugs like Anna Nicole
Vomitin every night; they takin it too far
After I get off stage they wanna hop to another bar
C'mon man~! I got one night in your town
You're gonna play a bullshit guy on your CD that sound
like I sound
Promoters wanna talk shit and pull me down
Pick me up from the airport in a bullshit truck and
drop me off
Bitch you ain't gotta take me around
I find the mall, any way to rejuvenate
"Is Keith gonna show up?" Oh you can hate
Hippie Euro savin bastard, I was there live
Right in London for two weeks with my f**kin outfit
All these rumors how the f**k they get in your head?
Where you hear this shit? I'm in Paris tonight
I did, I quick and split

[Chorus] - repeat 2X

[Dr. Dooom]
All them acts; y'all call them niggaz
Ain't no real showmen like bullshit rock bands
With black t-shirts, what's creative about this? You
tell me first
These people supportin 'em wear tight-ass pants
Skulls on they belt buckles be the worst
I've been in three hundred million ten magazines
What the f**k you gon' wait for me to die like James
to put me on the cover of Spin magazine?
Pages out here that's full of untalented motherf**kers
I've never seen
Young editors with a dick in they mouth on the scene
I'm your f**kin kid's dream, jewelry and a lot of pussy
Already I feel like I play on a basketball team
Whatever you don't like you can hate
I know you a guy that just got the job cause you f**kin
I take your chick out for dinner for a milkshake
You name a rapper you like, I'm not funny at all duke
I'll take a piss in his face

[Chorus] - repeat 4X

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Record Label(s): 2008 threshold recordings, LLC
Official lyrics by

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