Money Folder Lyrics - Madvillainy - Madvillain

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone 

After you who's last, it's Doom, he's the worst known 

That'll have your boom blown or even thirst bone 

Rock it to a worst clone, just don't curse the throne 

Own his own microphone, bring it everywhere he go 

So he can bring it to you live in stere-ere-o 

Pan it, can't understand it, ban it 

The underhanded ranted, planned it and left him stranded 

The best, any who profess will be remanded 

Yes sir, request permission to be candid? Granted 

I don't think we can handle a style so rancid 

They flipped it like Madlib, did a old jazz standard 

Don't mind me, I wrote this rhyme lightly 

Off of two or three Heines, and boy was they fine, G 

One Black, One Spanish, One Chinese 

It keeps the woody shiny year round like a pine tree 

Don't sign me I'm about to get a mil without em 

Grab him off the shelf, he's the villain, and what about him 

So and he's a jerk and you don't know him 

Mad how he expand work but won't show 'em 

Poor guys, what a sight for old, sore four-eyes 

Now hook me with two apple pies and a small fries 

All rise, so far art as a Rupple 

So raw break it down and make quadruple 

It's crucial, you could see it in his pupil 

And this time when he get it he'll waste it on somethin' useful 

Like getting juiced off a deuce-deuce of cokey 

Keep it low key, known to pull a okey-dokey 

Silly Goose, Doom is too jokey 

Damn he could really use a room or a whole key 

Egads, he got enough styles to start three fads 

True dat, she bad, I wonder do she come with kneepads 

What a call, what a real butterball 

Either I get a strike or strike out, gutterball 

Rock it like gear for the fall 

With knives inside pockets, prepare for the brawl 

Yeah y'all you could say its an earful 

Beware, do not touch mic, be careful 

And just like he said, I coulda told ya 

MF, the holder of a boulder, Money Folder 

It ain't funny nigga 

Money Folder