Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 8 Ways to Die, artist - Insane Clown Posse. Date of issue: 28.03.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
8 Ways to Die |
| Four in the morning, lightning crackin', rain is pouring yet |
| I’m still up doing lines of no-doze like my life’s important, man |
| I don’t mean shit to nobody, especially you |
| Never scared to pull something out of my waist, give you a taste of this (Boom) |
| Lay you flat dirty rat in fact you ain’t coming back (Nope) |
| Better have that shit sewed up with God before you hear that clap |
| Bring it back where my stacks? |
| What you thinking fool? |
| S dub D 'til I D-I-E, A-S-S down in the blood pool |
| 'Cause your nightmares, they my wet dreams |
| Fucking with my team I wish you would you b-string we supreme |
| Premo, woo! |
| T-R-O-Y |
| Reminisce over your bitch ass and don’t nobody even cry (Nope) |
| It’s no surprise don’t nobody even ask why |
| It’s no surprise we glad to see you die, bitch |
| Hit that fifth and chug |
| Skin full of the meth bugs |
| So who do you love? |
| You know I got the plug bitch |
| I’m a dope dealer and I’m from Dade county |
| I got kilos of cocaine I keep them shits around me |
| I got lots of haters, I’m always counting paper |
| My shoes are made from an alligator |
| I don’t sell no re-rock, I don’t rock no g-shock |
| I get money lil nigga thug life like I’m 2Pac |
| What do you want? |
| I got it all |
| I got a lil shawty and she wanna ball |
| She want a dope dealer, you can fuck with me (Yeah, yeah) |
| You can fuck with me (Yeah, yeah) |
| You can fuck with me (Ha ha ha ha ha) |
| You can fuck with me (Uh) |
| You can fuck with me |
| I put the dope in the pot (For real) |
| I can run up in your spot (Yuh) |
| All that tough talkin' you be doin' gon' get hit you up with the Glock |
| Name another rapper that has sold more dope than me |
| The only way that I’ma stop is if they come and murder me |
| Coming to like a wicked preacher in the pulpit |
| Eight ways to die, kill a ninja with the full |
| All that stuff you rapping be bull-bull-bullshit |
| Rappers get killed for being wack, you can’t fuck with my clique |
| Psycho cyphers Micheal Myers set your body on fire |
| Let the air out your head like a flat tire |
| Are you in good hands, better call State Farm |
| It’s getting hot up in this bitch ring the fire alarm |
| I’m gone, I’m thugged out, I was raised in a drug house |
| I come through like Raid on these roaches, they bug out |
| Your girlfriend getting dug out, it’s blood on the rug now |
| I’m turning your power off pulling your plug out |
| Next rapper say yeah I’ma shoot him yeah |
| Is his ass dead? |
| Yeah! |
| Hit him in his head! |
| I’m a fucking psycho, homie, I’m a clown |
| I never get it twisted in Mo-Town |
| I come down from the heavens and I’m best friends with Jesus |
| I be the fallen angel and I wrote Kkkill the Fetus |
| I spit this wicked shit for all these heathens cause they heinous |
| But still it’s hell on earth I got three stripes on my Adidas |
| Eight ways to die, bruh, I’m an eight legged spider |
| I walk up with an AK and light up your concert |
| Just killing anyone that’s happy you alive |
| If you survive in a suit and tie you getting crucified |
| With a nail gun |
| Motherfucker, my dick’s so big that it look like a whale tongue |
| Mac-11 Lethal dropping microphones up in it |
| It’s the middle of the map its Kansas City that I hail from |
| Everybody fuck with me I rip so nice and fast kid |
| If you ever fuck with me I dip your wife in acid |
| I’m with that dark juggalo clique |
| The Incredible Hulk on some Mark Ruffalo shit |
| I got a big hard buffalo dick |
| I might start humping your chick |
| I’m a motherfucking lunatic I pull the skeleton up out your mouth |
| Just like bunch of elephants up in a stampede |
| Sticking a fucking blade up in your lung and you can’t breathe |
| Bring them raccs out |
| Succa brain bout to get splat now |
| Bring that map out, I’ma put my city on the map now |
| Sin City on blacc out |
| Extension cords in that trap house |
| We done made our own power lines turned the bando to a cat house (Meow, meow) |
| Talk that shit down |
| «Ouija got a chicc with a dicc now» |
| Say what?!? |
| 30 round clip now just enough for you to get dicced down |
| How bout that now? |
| 17 tat now |
| 17 raccs now |
| Shawty ass clap like a pacced crowd |
| Let them talk that shit, won’t walk that shit I bust them in they shit |
| I pull up on him, Kid don’t want it but you finally got some drip |
| You can wait to hit the lottery I’m bout to hit a licc |
| You can wait on your retirement, I’m bout to break a bitch |
| Hol up' wait all my hoes exfoliate |
| All you broke mothafuccers you can still afford to hate |
| What’s that beefin' to a vegan I stacc broccoli on my plate |
| I can be stepping on all over these rapper neccs with every mo’fuccin' step |
| that I take |
| Ouija |
| MAFIA! |
| DJ PAUL! |
| Hunnit off in a clip |
| Ima push |
| Double barrel, double R on the grill |
| Diamond fangs in a grip |
| Johnny Dang got the drip |
| Smoke a quarter word to Elon, more notorious than B-I-G |
| Was strappin' 'fore I had a gun ID |
| Rubber bands on a hunnit grand layin' on my hand like I’m T.I.P |
| Nigga this is just a PSA |
| I’m dropping bones like I’m DTP |
| Pass the weed like a box of yay |
| Niggas copy but I do get paid |
| Surf’s up tryna ride this wave |
| I got pocket rockets and some knotted wallets keep the molly in a Gucci safe |
| 20 bitches on a 20 gauge |
| 20 haters that’s 20 graves |
| Beat the case like MMA |
| Run the club like some |
| to this silence |
| I’m colorblind 'til I get violent |
| Run your mouth you got some mileage |
| Feature my work to O’Reilly’s nigga |
| Take me out the worst way |
| Apocalypse on my birthday |
| When you starving you eat shit til' I piss on all the thirsty |
| For your applause my mental problem out for revenge every autumn |
| Stimulate to get down them all innovators fend 'em off |
| And lock me up nightly go psycho when you don’t like me |
| What’s in my hands? |
| Ain’t my ID |
| At gunpoint make you recite me |
| I see some demons that might be trying to fuck me or fight me |
| Because I wasn’t wrapped tightly at Heaven’s Gate in black Nikes |
| I’m in that house like a home invasion because your family need a renovation |
| Say ho don’t say Amen say 6−7-8−9 Satan |
| I’m a trapped ghost in a iPod and the batteries have been died off |
| Evil in me no antidote it’s boring shooting cantaloupe |
| And I’m about what killers do so much they start to kill in school |
| The heroes lame, the villains cool |
| Death is here I’m feeling cruel |
| Burnt flesh that’s brand loyal |
| Bullet holes your guts boil |
| King of nothing, Fuck royal |
| There will be blood, I struck oil |
| What I’m Freddy Kruger, Lex Luthor, Chad Kroeger |
| The dick in Nickleback who tickle fat nipples on cougars |
| Sippin' Boocha, your boo fuck with me |
| 'Cause I’m super fly, I splash her neden Jimmy Snuka |
| I’ll slap you, spin your face 'round to the back of your head |
| You’ll have to chop a hole through your wig or suffocate dead |
| I’ll make the sunshine bright at midnight or black out at noon |
| Put so much heart in this every beat kicks as a sonic boom |
| I blow hurricanes, spit monsoons and stomp earthquakes |
| And me and my Ruby known to bust and murder snakes |
| I’ll snatch right up in your earhole put your brain in your hand |
| You’ll still be trying to comprehend when you end (Dang man) |
| The hatchet been chopping for years |
| I’ll flex on all of my peers |
| So high I be poppin' your ears |
| You rockin' a toilet career |
| You bust to a brush in a mirror |
| You flush and your fans disappear |
| Your stacks are like flat as a beer |
| Left out in the sun for a year |
| Trained in Shaolin, red moon howlin' |
| Decades deep, stomach still growlin' |
| Elbow to eyeball I’m foulin' |
| 'Til your momma threw the towel in |
| But I caught it, she fought it and brought it, I applauded |
| But my rocket kick out it clocked out I sock it and she bought it |
| With that shing-shing-shing-shing walla-walla bing bing |
| True ninjutsu Joe Bruce ying yang |
| Six Six Fivin' big dicks diving |
| Up in you bitch it’s a ICP thing |
| ICP THANG |
| ICP THANG |
| ICP THANG |
| ICP THANG ICP THANG |