D.O.A. Songtext
von Brotha Lynch Hung

Mr. Mannibalector
It′s all over the news right now
You couldn't have missed it
Do you have any idea what might have happened to him?
Any idea at all?
Everybody thinks you do
Not me, but lots of people do
Tell me what happened
(He died a violent death)

[- Brotha Lynch Hung] He won′t have no head no mo', he won't have no bread no mo′
I won′t have to get fed no mo', he′s D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)
Give him a enema then I'mma send him a endin′
Ten of the men is the minimum, I eat ten of the
Tick tock on the clock taking out many men, he's D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)


Yeah, I don′t do it to get famous
Somethin' 'bout the brain is aimless, body where the stain is (Right there!)
I′mma be in the 6-4, a skitzo
Talk another language, I may miss, ya brain split
I′mma commit the hit flow til the shit blow, this the fo'
Gangin′ and bangin'
Lay in the playpen with the stainless
Put his brain in my apron, then I′m escapin'
Staple his legs, when I get the okay I′m tapin' his legs
When I get the dope, hey I'm breakin′ his legs
Want an omelet? Betta be breakin′ some eggs
Duck when the bomb hit, they finna pay
Smoke when the bomb lit
They finna pass it or they get the acid
I'm bakin′ that ass quick, rapin' that ass quick
Rhymes sound like I be takin′ the acid

[- Brotha Lynch Hung] He won't have no head no mo′, he won't have no bread no mo'
I won′t have to get fed no mo′, he's D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)
Give him a enigma then I′mma send him a endin'
Ten of the men is a minimum, I eat then of the
Tick tock from the clock ticking out many men, he′s D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)

Maybe, the reason that you're so paranoid
Is cause you smoke so much fuckin′ marijuana?
Wouldn't you think?


I don't know, I just spit that shit like I do coke (You do coke?)
I do hope, you get this shit quick cause Spydie′s broke (Spydie′s broke?)
I do choke, I got shit that rip that Chinese dope
I do low, I got Crip shit in me like Tiny Loc
I ain't active, my nine-millimeter make niggas do back-flips
And I′mma get with 'em with minimum practice
Then I′mma just hit 'em with a little gymnastics
My heat is plastic, I beat the bastard, I eat that ass quick
For dinner, the winner get me, I′m acid
And I don't have to be the nigga that spit it the fastest
Mr. NASA, A.S.A.P. give me my cashes
Muhammad Ali niggas whippin' they asses
Frizz was alive he′d be beatin′ their asses (Rest in peace!)
I leak molasses, couldn't see me with 24 pairs of glasses
You ain′t the only one that got goons
Shit that'll bloody up rooms, rips that′ll bloody up shoes
Hop the 6-4, pop the pistols
And I can get close, enough to hit those
Rock that, split those
She talk a good talk, so walk a good walk
Get up and let's go, it′s the Mr. Piston
It's the sickest, this is
Get ya kids quick, take 'em and rape ′em
It′s the sickness, take 'em and bake ′em

[- Brotha Lynch Hung] He won't have no head no mo′, he won't have no bread no mo′
I won't have to get fed no mo', he′s D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)
Give him a enema then I′mma send him a endin'
Ten of the men is a minimum, I eat then of the
Tick tock on the clock taking out many men, he′s D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)

It's quite obvious that people are addicted to your sickness
And they all seem to be emulating you
Perhaps you should do something about that?

I just know, niggas couldn′t see me with a telescope
I just hope, you tell 'em Lynch Hung comin′
So tell his ho (Tell his ho!)
Tell this ho, I got thick dick bitch, so smell this dope
I mean sniff this coke, it's terrific shit, drips out his nose
Shit, I don't need this, I carry a machete and I rip the cleavage
I carry ′em, I bury ′em
I'm leavin′ 'em deep-6
"Marion the Barbarian" when I grind the teeth, grit
I prefer a deep-dish, I′mma be hidin' behind ′em with the meat-cleaver
Momma be cryin', I fry him with the heat-seeker
Prolly be tryin', I′m coming with the heat, eat shit
Peter Parker, a.k.a. Coat-hanga′ Strangla'
They may pray, but the Lynch is hangin′ her
After she's dead, Lynch Hung is bangin′ guts (Strange!)
Ain't no tamin′ us
We get your brains and your veins, and bring 'em with us
Get a tat and bang it with us
One thang we insane and bringin' it up
My tongue hang when I′m aimin′, aim at the guts
Nigga loc'd to the brain, wrapped all into one
Hotdog ass niggas get wrapped in a bun
Tongue slit, neck, brains hangin′ wit Hung
The real sickness is back, so get it and run
I'mma get this shit intact, when I aim it, it′s done
I'mma get this shit in fact, when I aim it, it′s done
Sickness, get ya dick split

[- Brotha Lynch Hung] He won't have no head no mo', he won′t have no bread no mo′
I won't have to get fed no mo′, he's D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)
Give him a enema then I′mma send him a endin'
Ten of the men is a minimum, I eat then of the
Tick-tock on the clock taking out many men, he′s D.O.A. (Dinner On Arrival)

I can't control my own mind, my mind
(Is that so?)
Is uncontrollable
(Well, just keep coming back and we'll figure it all out)
That′s all the answers I can give you
(Don′t worry too much)
That's all the answers I can give you
(All right, I′ll see you tomorrow)