| Rich boy’s in trouble
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| Car broke down on a drive through the ghetto
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| All the weird people, you gotta get the fuck out
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| Need to use the phone, step into my funhouse
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| Hey yo, dope, looks like we got another
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| He’d like to go for a ride on the neck cutter
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| Straight to the cart for the next spectacular
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| Just to know, it’s a dead body sittin next to ya Get ready for the carnival thrills
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| Should of cut your little faggot ass in the hills
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| Boom! |
| through the door into the room, you gotta check it out
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| It’s where we cut your fingers off and stick em in your mouth
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| That should show you that you greedy little rich fuckIf you’re bucking with
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| the juggla you’re a dead duck
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| Eight fingers in your mouth and two sticking out your nose
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| Further down the hall, the room with jokeros
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| That’s where you get by seventeen wicked clowns
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| For the seventeen dead bodies never found
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| And they jump on your back until your ribs crack
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| Toss you in the cart and push you down the deli tracks
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| Spinning and twisting, rolling and bumping
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| The dead fuck next to ya is trying to tell ya somethin
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| Listen close, you can barely make it out
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| Bitch, you ain’t shit in my electric funhouse
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| Help me, I’m trapped in here. |
| Somebody let me out.
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| Oh my god!!! |
| Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!!
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| Come here, rich boy
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| My head is spinning 360 degrees
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| Richie richie richie
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| Come here
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| Bitch, fuck you, yeah, know what I’m saying
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| Wicked clowns running the funhouse
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| Ain’t no way to get out until the killer gets your neck cut like a man
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| Pick a card, any card, any motherfucking card… A joker’s card
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| Sorry, bitch, the luck of the draw
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| Violent J’s gonna have to ice your jaw
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| Snap, bang, snip, boom
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| Send that motherfucker off to the next room
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| Crash through the doors on the windy spinny trail
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| Through a loop-de-loop and into a big nail
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| Straight through his left eye and out the back of his head
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| Is he dead?
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| No, cause he has to go to the next phase
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| It’s the room of giggles because of your ways
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| You like to sit and laugh at people when they suffer
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| Well, now you sit and watch me laugh when I stick your mother
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| It’s the funhouse, bitch, everything’s funny
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| You act like whipping on your ass ain’t funny
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| And the ride of your life only gets faster
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| Off to the R-r-r-ringmaster
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| I take my bobo gun and blow your fuckin mouth in Eh, yo, the next room, it’s called the chicken pen
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| And it’s a little tribute to the bigots of the south
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| We take a dead chicken shove it in your mouth
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| And we stuff it down your throat with a pitchfork
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| Cuz you’re a big gut, that’s what you get for it Now I take your sorry ass and I throw you out
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| Cuz I don’t need your dead body stinkin up my funhouse
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| Funhouse, stinkin up my funhaugh! |