Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Crowd Killa, artist - Cage. Date of issue: 04.04.2002
Song language: English
Crowd Killa |
| I’m an anarchist, no wait, I’m an Antichrist |
| Couldn’t find a third six of my scalp so I used a knife |
| Scratched it in, I’m wasted, getting trashed again |
| An active ten, laughing and slashing friends |
| Selling dust to kids is how I used to spend the day |
| 'Cause I was only trying to live like Tim McVay |
| I respect women’s lib by letting them get their mace off |
| My dogs are hungry so I flick em with cutting your face off |
| Follow my lead, smoke weed and bleed sloppy |
| If you see me selling out in the store one more copy |
| Jump in the crowd and start swinging the cordless |
| Then dismember all you high-tech spy kids with a swordfish |
| See these cats in the streets off TV, they all bitch |
| Fans with a mic wanna battle, they all shit |
| So I push cop killers and things, they call quits |
| Then let off one in the crowds, they all hits |
| My career’s low on gas, I’m stabbing the rapper in sight |
| A suicidal failure like Shady’s ex-wife |
| One day got too pissed and sliced open two wrists |
| I punch lines 'til there’s coke all over my two fists |
| Look off over crowd, connect nicotine buzz |
| Then find your bitch dug out like the headrest where them screens was |
| Fuck your six, I got sixteen waiting |
| Anymore patient than when they switched me to out-patient |
| Left the hospital and dissed my whole crew |
| Even pop knew the deal and walked out when I was two |
| Get slammed in the dirt, murked and earth plate shaked |
| You ain’t stirring hurricanes, you breath on birthday cake |
| See some more fags, we’ll choke them herbs |
| And beat promoters down and be booked on spoken word |
| If I’m too sick, I’m sorry, I’m trying to get my head right |
| Wrapped up in this cult that I started on my website |
| See these cats in the streets off TV, they all bitch |
| Fans with a mic wanna battle, they all shit |
| So I push cop killers and things, they call quits |
| Then let off one in the crowds, they all hits |
| I snap a copy of Blade on DVD in half |
| Slice your neck and hand you a pamphlet on AIDS |
| Smut Peddlers, break up is apparent |
| When I put shit together like Malcolm McLaren |
| So Keep staring, I keep feeding your brain flaws |
| I’m porn again like the scam that got me in chain stores |
| Cage, number 9 on Billboard, fuck |
| Now I gotta sick Kubrick on Lil' Bow Wow’s nuts |
| Long range shots to where you and your mans is |
| Missed and hit some skinny ugly white bitch in Kansas |
| Scratch her eyes out right where the evil itched her |
| Need a elixir, a heaven |
| See these cats in the streets off TV, they all bitch |
| Fans with a mic wanna battle, they all shit |
| So I push cop killers and things, they call quits |
| Then let off one in the crowds, they all hits |