Dum Diary by Kool A.D. Lyrics

I’m like Malcolm Gladwell, pseudoscientific
My cat swell hit it til the cat swell
Did it like Nina did to Jacques Brel
Or not quite but yo yo, yo yo yo
At least I’m not white right?
Nah, who cares, language is fatal but who’s scared?
Elevator to the top, I don’t do stairs
See me with Demi Moore, Afeni Shakur
Hey yo I’m lamping from Havana to Panama
I got Remy to pour
Check your pores, why you sweating me for?
Yo, get out the kitchen, why you checking the recipe for?
I step in the door and it smell like a medicine store
Advil, aspirin, Tylenol, Excedrin, more
I’d be telling you more, but my melon is sore
Yo, whoa, no, my melanin’s sore
Who you for?
The felon that’s poor or the people who be selling the war?
Who you telling? Wait, no why you telling ‘em for?
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up
Nah, nah, really, shut up, no no, nah wait wait
I’m Malcolm uhh, wait, umm, McLaren
Basic bitches rocking what I’m wearing
Panties drop like umm… K-Swiss stocks when I’m near it
No toast(?), I mean hot toast(?)
Wait, I forgot that line
I don’t give a fuck about it anyway
Hey, check it out, I’m here to stay
In a major way, and we be getting paid in a major way
Check it out now, I’m on the block singing Guantanamera
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, uh
I eat ham, shit up on a track
Nice, big-hatted jews, uhh
Used to cop porno flicks from me in Crown Heights
Not really though, haha, yo yo, Kool A.D. too silly yo
Hey, it’s raining, boo Iranian and you be playing but it’s not a game
My crew of orangutans in a redwood forest
I’m James Franco on the cover of VMAN
Kool A.D. He-man, yes we can
My literary agent’s husband works for Fox or some shit
I wouldn’t trust me a lot
Yo but trust me a little, I’m Malcolm Little, proud
Young riddle-me-this type
Black on white knife to fist fight
I’m at the People’s Temple reaching for that purple stuff
Kool A.D., you can call me "Kool Purple Stuff"
Brian Jones couldn’t massacre half as raw
Nah, my math is off
Cop me a calculator plus a spaceship, I’m blasting off
Drunk on Youtube, Hasselhoff
I’m signing autographs for German rap fans with flash cams taking snaps of my rap hands
I’m ham-handedly grabbing the cash as fast as I can
I don’t even know how long it’ll last, man
This too shall pass and that too shall pass and um
Throwing your Tascam in the trash can
Run your kicks, plus your 606
Yeah, run your gate, I mean, wait, your grapes
Plus your 808s, that’s exactly, yo, 808s, right?
Yo, run your papes, your cape, your tape, your jape, your yape
Give a fuck if you can’t feel me
You mad real, you can’t see me
Kool A.D. the Great Bandini
My fam need me, melanin help me tan easy
Lit it up in Japan, see me shit up on your sand
I mean your bland CD, ya, that’s what it is, nah
Wait, nothing though, move land to land, it’s no accident
My brain's working
Tame jerks trying to box me and lock me like I’m James Kirkland
I’m working, you lames hurting
My aim’s perfect, oh wait, nah, nah, nah not quite though
But yo at least I’m not white though, nah
No who cares, language is fatal but who’s scared
All around the world same song, brain gone like a Scarecrow
Wiz kid path narrow, fly like high like sparrow, young black pharaoh
Ahaha, yeah yeah yeah, young black teenagers, I got three pagers
I don’t see haters, haters don’t see me
I’m just a mp3, empty three b-e-e-r-s up into the gullet
‘Cause fuck it I’m in the forest, I’m in the forest
Call me George, I’m georgous, I mean I’m gorgeous
The human orchid, racks on racks stacked on backs of tortoise
Scorpio but still flourish like a Taurus
Multi-seasonal see me in all meals
A-do-do-da-da-ding-ding-ding
A-do-do-da-da-ding-ding-ding
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera
A-do-do-da-da-ding-ding-ding
Ya ya ya, Kool A.D. the reason all weasel demons fall
Nah I’m not a heathen I believe it all
Plus I fuck a lot
Check, is you stupid? You in a sucka spot
Chest(?) mean best bean you’ve yet seen
Since Big Pun, the kid drunk off one fifth to the one fifth
Rum kid dumb, run, cops got guns
They handling out bids
I mean handing out bids to kids and steal they childhoods
Call me bleeding heart but I’m wild good
Moses’ mother upon the Nile stood
Basket to casket the child could, Paco
I mean, wait, Pacino, that’s it
???? who’s mine? I claim it for the Vazquez clan
Eyes dryer than Damascus, rain-shadow effect
The bison painted on cave walls
The two dollar Wednesdays, they play ball
Oakland Coliseum, packing a BM(?), Pac in a BM(?)
Yeah, semen on the, uh, um, how you call it? Yeah, the areola
If you a player in a game this’ll hold ya
A whole cold world that gets colder as you get older
Drafted as a No Limit soldier
Cast the video, I mean, cast in the video for Master P and et cetera
Except I didn’t ask to hold the ball it just got passed to me, man
Hunters Point, nigga, I’m nasty V, but Alameda actually
I’m Elian Gonzalez, I’m being honest
My politic too organic to understand it
I oughta quit, maybe I oughta not
Thought a bit about it for a second, so probably not
Cold but sweet like an Otter Pop
Know a lot of tricks but nut(?) a lot
Say hello to all the chicks up in the parking lot
Aha, used to spark a lot, in the parking lot
You could’ve called me Sir Sparkalot
Yeah, operation Peter man, I mean Peter Pan man child, exactly that
Man, if my granddaddy could see his damn grandchild wonder what he would say and shit
I know, I know, I talk a lot but it sounds like I ain’t saying shit
I don’t how to feel about the game but I’m playing it
Think I’m doing OK and shit, I’m saying shit
Slightly ahead of the game, I’m not a lame
I’m Too Short, Victor write a rhyme like a book report
Yeah, almost halal but I could be pork
Hey yo what’s good New York
Peace to Mike Baker and Track though
Love Alameda but that shit was wack though
Light-skinned but still black though
Still don’t know how to act though
Know how to stack dough
Really I just go where the track go
Then I just go where the stack go
Then I just go where the cat go
Brain in the whip titties out
National Geographical, yeah
Test drive that ass out, nut up on her Lil’ Wayne T-shirt and pass out
Used to be under radars of haters and now they lash out
Going back to Oakland like the Raiders when my cash(?) stout
But I digress, where was I at, though?
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah blah blah blah blah blah
I mean, uhh, stack dough, stack dough
Check it out, yo yo yo yo
Fools be like "yo, how you do that, bro?"
I don’t even know it’s just natural
But actually that’s not even the question to ask though
But what’s the question to ask? You might ask though like I’m teaching a class
No, I’m just letting your ass know
Collect a couple bills, sit still, watch the grass grow
Man, just don’t let them snipe you on the tax though
They treat you like a child make them wipe you on the ass too
You could laugh, they could laugh too
And who laughs last and who’s who?
I don’t got a fool’s clue
I’m a TV show, man, I’m Blue’s Clues
If you don’t get it then boo hoo
See me up on my paper like the Jews do
Used to paper hate, now I’m on the paper like a Papermate
Stay awake to the ways of the world cause shit is deep
Like the cousin of sleep
I’m bugging, I’m buzzing like every single day of the week
I used to play in the streets
Teatherball with a tennis ball for his shoelaces
Naturally adapt to have more than two faces
Probably even something like 42 faces
And Biggie was mistaken for like 42 races
But, yo, that’s cool though, y’all know it’s Kool, yo
Kehinde Wiley in Israel singing fake blues
Patricia Williams talks a good game, but who makes her shoes?
Do we need shoes or should we grow callouses?
And hold chalices of old golden Shabazz Palaces
I mean, all go(?) to Shabazz Palaces, I fucked it up, my bad
I don’t give a fuck, I’m so so wait, nah
How many malnourished Asian kids you fed today?
Is Adderall covered by Medicaid?
How…umm, is….wait
Manny Pacquiao, welter or featherweight?
If I thought about it hard could I letitate? I mean, levitate?
Is Criss Angel effeminate?
Just answer, don’t hesitate
Don’t got love? I guess you better hate
But study your mythology methodically and tally all the odds of every Odyssey, got it, b?
Yeah, I don’t even know though, what talks more than the dough though?
Many righteous teachers go the way of the dodo
Party at the crossroads is over, but yo yo
Party at the crossroads is over, but yo yo
Party at the crossroads is over, but yo yo
Yo yo yo yo yo yo
After the party it’s the afterparty
The revolution probably won’t be sponsored by Bacardi
Be gnarly, Gs sounding like lasagna when I puff the Bob Marley
See me eating, but starving
A parvin(?), I mean a parmesan sandwich, I mean a Spartan
That’s exactly no aspersion, yeah
An art(arc?) or a curve in a chart upwards
My heart is a starfish, enough words
Starman but I strut earth
Fuck first, love later, shrug haters off
Y’all think y’all swift, but y’all Taylor soft
Nah nah, wait nah wait but wait wait nah nah
Wait but nah nah OK OK OK yo
I’m learning how to be a boss and paying the cost now now
Call me pasta, I lay in the sauce now now now
Tell me basta, you saying to stop now now now
And I’m, wait, probably will uh, ya OK
I’m not a killer but some of y’all gotta be killed
This ain’t The Lottery, chill
Anthropology still couldn’t analyze my pottery, still