Waiting List Lyrics - Singles - Dr. Octagon

You enter, step in the room, four, five 

My over compressed thoughts and ways make you get live 

You are the patient, and i, your black doctor, 

Medical bills, insurance, cash in the ceiling. 

Dioxalyn fingerprints here ever since 

I got my white suit pressed, out the cleaners, 

X-ray shades, with hard shoes and some razor blades 

Who's the brother that's sick, and needs the operation? 

Bullets removed from your head, grand central station 

I gotta cut off your ear, first behind your neck 

Rip out the stomach, and open rectum's to dissect 

Shine the light, inside, roaches crawling in your throat 

I have no tools, my hammer's done, my drill is broked 

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I'm the doctor, 

You wait on the waiting list, 

Patients been here since this morning I dismiss. 

*scratched*'this is octagon? (repeat twice.) 

Watching people vomit green, my po-lig is lizard pills 

My office in berbick, I had the bodies in beverley hills. 

Seeking kimbles and bits, a girl with small tits 

Talking to herself, her dog, and having rabid fits 

Green fly soup in on the way from the kitchen, troop 

Looking at t.b tuberculous on the window post 

Ten dead dogs, a brown fox in the comatose 

With no reps, I put more needles in they kneecaps 

Some primitive screws, and my, yes and perhaps 

A little sprinkle of clorox, in their vocal box 

Some pepto-bismol, pepsi-cola, pack of pop rocks 

Mix it all together with bugs, to change the weather, 

You be coughing blue, with eyes like mr. magoo 

Straight up cartoon, you're bound to fall out real soon. 

Photos 

(chorus) 

As you come in the bright, you ride the orange ambulance 

Look at widows and pell see the mental patients dance 

Doin six and seven, steps ladies yells dance 

Upside downside with walls flyin? through the hall/whore 

Mr. reeves/mysteries with yellow bees they fly, sting your face 

You out there bumps, caught up with a acne case 

Plastic surgery, your lawyer now refer to me 

Giving you sketches, exquisive pictures of the gill man 

What's the matter, are you happy? na you're I'll man 

Standin? back, you choose a ticket, 

My spiritual laws of vitamins will turn your face wicked 

You're invited to ride the glide to your homicide 

(chorus)