| Just checkin' my microphone once
|
| As I check your audio
|
| Increase the bass response
|
| Hopin' the speakers blow
|
| I got no time to sit and flip and pop bullshit
|
| Turn up your stereo hops, insert the rhyme clip
|
| Close your windows up, make sure it’s air tight
|
| E.Q. |
| the track exact, so shit sounds right
|
| I rhyme of death and darkness and danger
|
| Your crib or car becomes a torture chamber
|
| I write my rhymes with violence, what you expect?
|
| Sounds of pain, the snap of a broken neck
|
| All alone in darkness I sit each night
|
| Write my rhymes with blood upon a butcher knife
|
| You say the Ice is ill, and ill I am
|
| They try to ban my shit and I don’t give a damn
|
| Roll up, your eye will get swoll up
|
| Suckers who flexed, yo, their deaths got tolled up
|
| Cause I’m not the nigga to toy with, boy with the big mouth
|
| Ya got time to riff? |
| There’s time to take you out
|
| Put a couple caps in your ass, cut your head off
|
| Send it to your mom with flowers 'cause I’m so soft
|
| Lay on your wack crew, smoke the whole bunch
|
| Bury 'em in my backyard and then I’ll eat lunch
|
| Cause I don’t give a fuck about you or him or her
|
| Whenever I’m in the house a death just might occur
|
| Is this real or fiction, You’ll never know
|
| While you’re locked to the pulse of the rhyme flow!
|
| Once I lock you up, you can’t get loose
|
| You put your head inside
|
| And I placed the noose
|
| The mic drips juice slow
|
| From its steel mesh
|
| My words feel like hooks
|
| Underneath your flesh
|
| Makin' you twist and turn
|
| Scorch and burn, when will you learn?
|
| The '90s are my turn
|
| To pitch a vocal fit, like the ultimate
|
| Gangster rhyme, yo, I invented the shit!
|
| Watch me do it, as I do it
|
| And I do it right
|
| Grab the gauge
|
| Duct tape on the flashlight
|
| Don the black ski mask
|
| And come to your house
|
| Cut off your power
|
| And do you with the lights out!
|
| Is this real or fiction?
|
| You’ll never know
|
| A pool of blood
|
| And floating body parts
|
| Would make me grin
|
| A close view of a razor
|
| When it’s breaking skin
|
| If you were burnin'
|
| I’d use gasoline to put you out
|
| Cause I walk alone
|
| And choose the dark route
|
| Nightmares gotta be loved by some
|
| And I’m the one
|
| Ya wanna come, bring your shotgun
|
| You ever see your partner die?
|
| No? |
| Well I have!
|
| You ever see your father die?
|
| No? |
| Well I have!
|
| You ever see your mother die?
|
| No? |
| Well I have!
|
| So shut the fuck up, punk
|
| And clear the rhyme path!
|
| What would make me feel calm and nice
|
| Is a slow slice
|
| Through your jugular and windpipe
|
| Throw me in jail
|
| I won’t even try to make bail
|
| Put me in the gas chamber
|
| And watch me inhale!
|
| Is this true or false?
|
| Well you’ll never know
|
| Jason, Tales from the Crypt
|
| And the Dark Side
|
| Another fly murder, another suicide
|
| Did these flicks
|
| Have an influence on my brain?
|
| I really doubt that shit
|
| I think that I was born insane
|
| When I was young
|
| I had a lust for knives and guns
|
| Use a magnifying glass
|
| To fry an ant with the sun
|
| And on and on
|
| My lust for death got bigger
|
| At fifteen
|
| I was placed behind a trigger
|
| Although I’m dirty
|
| Not the one to be swept up
|
| Step up, I’d love to open your chest up
|
| I’ve got no concept of life or death
|
| All I want is your last breath
|
| Give me a motherfuckin' break
|
| I should behave
|
| Give me a motherfuckin' shovel
|
| I’ll dig graves!
|
| I break ill in extra large portions
|
| Where’s your parents
|
| I’ll make you an orphan
|
| So when you’re talkin' crazy
|
| You better think of me
|
| The I, to the C, to the E, to the fuckin' T!
|
| There’ll be no tears
|
| No screams or cries, just a laser beam
|
| Between your fuckin' eyes
|
| You feel strange well now you know |