Operation: Greenbacks

Lyrics for Operation: Greenbacks

[MF Doom] A fly tramp, that's what she called me 'Cause I don't wear no Stetson hats like Paul C As y'all see, who give a fuck? Who know what is it? These styles will be flipped to the absolute exquisite It's like a blizzard, soon as I got home from ATL Looked into my baby's face, my boo was like ... "Well! I know your types of clientele! Thoughts, needs" As I held her firmly, yet gentle as the soft sea She said, "The one with the horse weave?" The pretty one?" All crazy, had to touch the tattoo through the short sleeve Which one you want? I'm like, "If there was comp? Fuck around, a nigga like me probably run up in all three!" King Geedorah what they call me, either caesar or baldy Probably half-boozed since last y'all saw me On the D-low, I slaughter solo emcees, they paper-thin In they Polo, Nautica, or DK men Amen! It's funny how significance make a difference Notice parables of three in every other inference For instance: "Who wanna battle? On the real? Choose your weapon: microphone, beats, or the wheels-of-steel" I own a crown in all three for getting down without a doubt I'd like to give a extra special out To Jet Jaguar, the sun, moon and star The Monster Island Czars y'all know who you are Get that! [Tommy Gunn] Coming straight from the black lungs I rip tracks for all players that pack guns Stack ones in packs, done and doing back-to-back runs To my peeps that close, so's ya' knows what's up Y'all know the dough's quick, hoes that mess with 5-O shrimp like, "What?" Like they wanna shmoosh us, just to packing the pushers I'm packing gat then bust a cap at po-po If they catch us and try to push us Since when a MINY nigga don't be taking no shit? I be that drug dealing nigga that be fucking ya' bitch! [MF Doom] What a fella! Like Salt, Pepa, Spinderella I came to spark the deaf, dumb and blind like Helen Keller If I'm not with George of the Jungle, if he not with Stella Or either Priscilla, I'm doing dips on Godzilla Though y'all know he don't play, right? TNT throws a nigga out a moving van in broad daylight And he was shackled by hands and feet Then they say he tried to escape, once his face scraped the concrete Near the curb on Monster Island, 103 Street Where brothers run the risk of getting swallowed once the Beast eat I'd rather lay in the cut, collect cash pay Only TNT I see is Gilligan's castaway With Mary Jane and Ginger Oh, from which you spent the night by accident, I creep like a ninja When the mack is bent, who can give one fuck? Get bucked, get broke up like three-piece nun-chucks Y'all sun struck, sick to they head-piece Three-headed beast brings the drama to a dead cease (Get that money, god) Sick to they head-piece (Get that money, god) (Get that money, god) (Get that money, god) Greenbacks ... the meanest green stacks