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dr. octagon - waiting list (dj shadow/automator mix) lyrics

[verse 1]
you enter, step in the room four-o-five
my over compressed thoughts and waves 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 r-ct-ms to dissect
shine the light inside, roaches crawling in your throat
i don’t have tools, my hammer’s dull, my drill is broke

[hook]
i’m the doctor
you wait on the waiting list
patients been here since this morning i dismiss
-scratched- ‘the doc.. the doc..’
i’m the doctor
you wait on the waiting list
patients been here since this morning i dismiss
-scratched- ‘the doc.. the doc..’

[verse 2]
watching people vomit green, my potent, my list of pills
my office in burbank, i hide the bodies in beverley hills
seeking kimbles and bits, a girl with small t-ts
talking to herself, her dog, and having rabid fits
green fly soup is on the way from the kitchen, troop
looking at tb 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 in mind, 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

[verse 3]
as you come in the bright, you ride the orange ambulance
look at windows repel, see the mental patients dance
doin’ six and seven, steps ladies yells dance
upside, downside, the wall flyin’ through the hall
mr. reeves/mysteries with yellow bees they fly, sting your face
you out there bumps, caught up with an 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? nah, you’re ill 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

- dr octagon lyrics

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