| This is the soundtrack to kill your stepfather
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| Leave the faggot unconscious and douse him in Goldschlager
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| Light the match, now kick him till he holler
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| Kick him harder, he only had forty dollars
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| Jump in your moms whip your face dripping
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| Leave the tabs alone, no such thing as safe tripping
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| Bumps of K help explain what’s inside you
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| Look in the rear-view, he’s still dragging behind you
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| Pull it over, you skidded off half his shoulder
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| Pouring rain you can still smell the blood odour
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| Think of all the shit he put your mom through
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| He’s half dead, it’s already starting to calm you
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| Tell him to bite the curb then kick till it’s heard
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| Read the papers nerd, stepfather massacred
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| Start to laugh, you know it’s alright
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| Cause when they questioned your moms you was sleeping all night
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| Three in the chest, I saw him drop
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| The only time that I ever called him pop
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| Two in his back while he’s dead on the ground
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| One more in the head because he made a little sound
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| Ran out of bullets so I used the blade
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| Wear rubber gloves cause he might have AIDS
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| Better call home because I’ll be late for supper
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| Sorry mom, I just killed this mother fucker
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| Cut school cause you like fuck school
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| Mom fuck you, I’ll throw you in front of a a truck too
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| Keep my drugs, I can sneak in more
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| Let’s all go rob my stepfather’s sneaker store
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| I got the codes and plus the new shocks in
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| Nobody’s watching so jail ain’t an option
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| Fuck trust, tried to kill my family twice
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| Stupid mother fuckers trying to raise an anti-christ
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| I steal from the bitch that shit me in the ditch
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| And plot the death of the fag that said he’d make her rich
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| In dish washing gloves, anger starts to flood
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| At gun point, got mom wrapping the carcass up
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| See through stab wounds, a barbeque at dad’s tomb
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| Barbeque chicken, I can tell mom is glad too
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| Meet you in the car, rolled the haze
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| Rubbing my full stomach while I pissed on his grave
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| Three in the chest, I saw him drop
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| The only time that I ever called him pop
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| Two in his back while he’s dead on the ground
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| One more in the head because he made a little sound
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| Ran out of bullets so I used the blade
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| Wear rubber gloves cause he might have AIDS
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| Better call home because I’ll be late for supper
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| Sorry mom, I just killed this mother fucker
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| Put me on a PINS petition, man listen
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| My mom might slip in your blood and die in the kitchen
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| My hands itching to push the blade then my fist in
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| Pop out your back knocking your spine out of position
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| Parts missing while they scoop you off the ground
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| The class clown ready to pull the mask down
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| Empty the gun, then it’s time to reload
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| Mapping out his murder, pissing for my P. O
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| Get home, he’s on the couch running his mouth
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| Walked up to him and put his own gun in his mouth
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| Painted the wall, he’s still standing waiting to fall
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| Heard a car pull up, I shoud’ve stayed at the mall
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| But I’m sick of getting treated like a god damn step child |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Soundtrack... , by - Cage. Song from the album Movies For The Blind, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп