Lyrics
How they gave his own show to Tad Ghostal?
Any given second he could go mad postal
Stay wavin' that powerband space cannon
And had the nerve to jump in the face of Race Bannon
Punked out
Luckily he deaded it
Guess who’s the schmuck who’s credited with editing it
Your man Moltar, the copout
Ain’t have no other career choice, he dropped out
Since when the Wayouts included Zorak
Way back he used to rub his thorax in Borax (evil Zorak laugh)
I’m not the one that sold him to it
If he won’t admit it, I’m not gonna hold him to it
It’s all love and no hate though
For all that, the Villain need to get his own Late Show
Do a monolouge and jest with the guests
Madlib switch the beat and walk him to the desk
With Danger holding down the control room
Late again returning from commercial, I told you, Doom
Early, he’s on BPT
Catch him on public-access free TV
And we’re back live on the air with Brak
So, Brak, how your man got a show that’s so wack? (Brak: What?)
Have you ever thought to work with Err or Ignignokt and them? (Err: Ha ha!)
Do you got enough oxygen from this toxic phlegm?
Another sec, his neck woulda got flames
Mouse switch the screen to some hot dames
Tonight’s audience received big screen video games
And fifteen seconds of fame, pitiful lames
It’s just a shame, zoning
Competing for the same primetime slot as Conan
No, dummy, Ichigawa
Announcement: free lunch to any stunt who lets me plow her in the shower for a
hour
The kids supposed to be sleep
Or else the joint’ll sound like Road Runner, beep beep
Later this week, Big Ben Klingon
After him there’s no one else we could afford to bring on
Keep it ghetto
And let em know BYOB from the get-go
I’d like to propose a toast
To the grossest host
Space Ho’s coast to coast
That destructo ray’s a played out gag
And the cape and the pantsuit, looking like a straight out…
Dag, don’t mean to sound crunchy
Hit a honey from the back and crumpled up her scrunchy
A light snack hungry munchie
Felt a funny hunch, then she told me «Donkey-punch me!»
Tomorrow is Father Guido Sarducci, Father MC and Charo, coochie coochie
With her new bestseller, «Who you call a hoochie?»
A proud sponsor of the Snoochie Boochie Noochies
Look Leela eyeball to eyeballs
And find out how to get inside them sugar pie walls
Our next guest, a real cutie specimen
And she’s starting to get a little booty, Miss Judy Jetson
So, Judy, boxers, briefs, or fig leaf?
As you know I wear my boxers on my big…
Cue the rapper, tell him bring what little he got
Up against the Villy, is really not diddly squat
Until they head hurts
When it come to wreck
Cruisers like them dudes in red shirts off Star Trek
He Kirk, he Spock, he McCoy
Been b-boy since you jerks first squeezed toys
Born to be the host with the most
When it’s on it’s on
Space Ho’s, coast to coast
Do you think I’m just gonna hand over my show to you, Doom? Have you lost your
f*cking mind? Listen, I’m not gonna hand my show over to you. You know why?
Because it’s my show. Mine. Not yours. Space Ghost. It ain’t Doom Coast to
Coast. Yeah, yeah sure, here are the keys to the show, why don’t you drive for
a while? Yeah, America’s craving some Doom, here you go…