"M.C. Whatever" A fable from the Council of Doom beat by Deeper Era Productions Yo, let me stop making sense like I was David Byrne It's my time to shine so you can wait your turn I saw your Momma walking with that tasteless perm Complaining to your Pops you was a waste of sperm I'm 'a make you an example like your name was Caecilius You think you rhyme super when you rhyme supercilious I rhyme poetical; you rhyme pathetical On the hypothetical, let's say you met a girl And said, "Hi, my name's Whatever", and she be like "Who?" But all the girlies know about the Aryan Jew The fact is you ain't blazin, your style's barely luke-warm Heard your four-line guest rhyme, and sure enough, true-to-form You couldn't hold a beat, but you could mention weed and bitches The "G" must stand for generic, you're too big for your britches Put your record on the phonograph-kid you make me wanna laugh Quit practicing your autograph, start working on your epitaph In memory of an MC named Whatever Died from complications of thinking he was clever Tried to represent, didn't know what it meant Got schooled by a white boy and died of embarrassment. Just throw your hands in the air for "Whatever" You thought you'd be millionaire, like forever When asked, "Would you sell out, kid?" You said, "Never" Now you're waitin' at the soup kitchen, MC Whatever You step to the mic, thinkin' you got skills But if you step to Mike, step to a brother who kills Theoretically and eremetically Mostly keeping to himself, but now he's killin' medically He'll be takin' out your kidneys with a scalpel All because you couldn't rhyme a mouthful Your Escalade is played and your ice is meltin' Remember how it felt when your records was sellin'? By now, you've been reduced to obscurity Of mediocrity, you're the authority You can't talk with me, you fell off o' TRL The number two video, does that ring a bell? Now it's the number two bus, you can't bust in the park You catch a cap in your own hood, you're just a mark Where's the fame, where's the glitter, where's the glory? You're a one hit wonder: we all know the story. It's been sold and told and rolled on VH1 How you were screwed and viewed as the Prodigal Son When you tried to go back to your old label Well, now it's time to eat crow like in the fable. Just throw your hands in the air for "Whatever" You thought you'd be millionaire, like forever When asked, "Would you sell out, kid?" You said, "Never" Now you're waitin' at the soup kitchen, MC Whatever Seen you last week in line at the A&P Tryin' to buy beer with your W.I.C. The cashier was like, / "I'm sorry, Mr. Whatever... Whatever Ever? What Ever Ever?" / "That's right," / you said, / "I'm MC Whatever" / "Damn, my older sister thought they found you in a river!" That's right you went from wax to whack / Picked you up and scanned the barcode stuck on your back And the screen said like "ten cents to the pound" From the Nice Price basket at the Record Town / They got you up in the bin, like with Barry Manilow Opened up a can o' ho to get that R&Ber flow But now you know that don't go that you be "Buggin Out" / So do the right thing, son, and just shut your mouth It's sad to hear you lampin' on platinum and TEC-9's / I write the Writer's Guild when I gotta protect mine So, kid, step outta line and let a real MC through / Like the mickety-Mad Sheep or the Aryan Jew My record ain't gold, but at least I'm saying something/ You got Cinderella skills, your Bentley turned into pumpkin. Just throw your hands in the air for "Whatever" You thought you'd be millionaire, like forever When asked, "Would you sell out, kid?" You said, "Never" Now you're waitin' at the soup kitchen, MC Whatever