Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sally Mcnally, artist - Insane Clown Posse. Album song Willaby Rags: Magical Bag of Poop, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.07.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Psychopathic
Song language: English
Sally Mcnally |
«This shit’s fire» |
«Last year, detective Dick Lubanus of Tallahassee Florida’s Cold Case Unit dove |
into the 1988 murder of Sally McGuinness, who went missing after a night on the |
town. |
Three weeks later, her body was discovered, beheaded, in a wooden ravine, |
just two miles from home. |
Would DNA technology unavailable at the time of the |
murder finally reveal who was responsible for this heinous crime?» |
The sick dude waits, looming. |
She enters the room to doom |
He makes her get nude. |
The dick rapes her |
And then takes and consumes a full broomstick up her butt |
No bullshit, he duct tapes it shut |
His dick skeets, she’s deceased, at least at peace |
He retrieves meat freezer keys |
And opens it to a cold breeze, throws her in |
Frozen, no degrees, so he’ll have more when he please |
«Don't miss Darkness Falls, Thursday night, the ID track» |
It was a muggy midnight lightning storm (Lightning storm) |
Bored with my wife, my penis wouldn’t perform (The norm) |
Stretched out on my couch, it happened to me (Happened to me) |
Her story appeared on the channel ID, Murder TV |
How quick she ripped and tore out my whole heart was a trip |
Her picture crushed my soul down then sucked it right out through my dick |
(Loogie spit) |
Her hair bouffant, eyeliner all heavy and smudged (And smudged) |
Told me she was a head banging hair metal true 80's slut |
Re-enactment dramatics |
Bullshit tactics |
Only two real pics of you? |
One from '86, the other Christmas '82 |
You still split this wig, boo, couldn’t hack it |
Feathered hairdo, and leather jacket |
Hot rock babe, too blurry old pics |
Shown quick, left me with a furry swol dick |
You’re not just some dumb dead bitch from the past to me |
Speaking that shit is blasphemy |
Wait, keep that dead girl. |
She’s beautiful |
Since I seen you on that murder show, dreams keep comin' back (Keep comin' back) |
I dream you’re not from back then, you’re from right now, in fact (Not wack) |
We’re roasting smores, then comes the big reality check |
We leaned to kiss, then your head falls right into flames, rolls off your neck |
Why did that fucker have to kill you so cold? |
(Kill you so cold) |
Why are you from the 80's if you never got whacked? |
(You still be) |
That re-enactment of your death was a shame |
You can’t replicate sweet dead Sally McNally, pal, you learn |
Who was she? |
Tell me anything! |
She looked like a stoner, drinkin', |
probably headbanged! |
Her crime doc, for me, meant a strange life change |
Content, for my wife, estrangement |
Feeling a little deranged and bent |
I set myself down to Sally’s killer’s arraignment |
Now my ass down to Tallahassee |
Found the gala quite classy. |
I’m in a suit and tie |
I had to shoot the guy in the back. |
Quick, I dashed |
He’s dead now, with the devil’s dick in his ass |
Broad daylight, I’m graveyard shoveling |
You don’t give a fuck with the love I’m in, no |
I’m Dig Dug, boo. |
Let’s get you a bub |
I’ma sleep with your boney bones and give 'em love |
I hope that miss McNally is coming mummified |
You feel me, Sally boo? |
Give me something I can ride |
If we super lucky, it’ll be a hole there |
A hole anywhere. |
Fuck, I don’t care. |
I’m trying to go there |
Bitch, at least give me something to hump in |
Just a clumpin', a fuckin' lump or something |
Damn. |
All bones. |
Just like my life. |
All bones |
I wish there was more left of you than just bones (Than just bones) |
As you and you killer in that poor room like I did won’t bring you home |
If you’d have had a daughter, that’d be the bomb |
I’d be a wang-a-tang-a-bangin' that bad bitch out backward, picturing her mom |
I’m back home. |
I guess I’ll never get with ya |
Sweet dead metal head, I’ll never forget ya |
Sally McNally, not just another dead name |
A dead face, and reference to a case, then erased |
No, baby, rewind, baby, be mine |
I like your hairdo. |
Let me get near you |
So, you met with disaster. |
No one has to know |
Me and you, let’s right a brand new forevermo' |
Let me hear your laughter, a little gigglin' |
Baby, live again. |
Let’s get them titties jigglin' |
You ain’t a dead bitch. |
You’re just dead wrong |
Or maybe dead dumb if you ain’t headstrong |
You only die when you’ve given up. |
Try gettin' up |
Who gives a fuck? |
Fly around and live it up |
How real are you? |
Feelin' part two? |
Three, four, five, six, bitch? |
Start to |
Let’s mix, switch autofix, quick |
Fix all those chicks, give 'em pole dicks |
Dead in '88, I said, «lady, wait» |
You made it through to '92, I’m remindin' you |
Hard on the dillas, billion dollar billas |
Resurrectin' like Shangri-La pillas |
So dead that dead talk, dead is '85 |
Born again, arive, how about a tenant drive? |
665 round trip, you bare to dip |
And don’t forget, shit’s over in a blip |
«That's all you get, bitches! |
My bag is empty, just like your skulls! |
What the fuck are you still here for? |
Get the fuck out of my beautiful, |
flawless, rotting, dead face! |
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! |
Goodbye, |
shitty-bitch shit heads! |
Hope you enjoyed playing with the poop! |
You still here? |
How about I kiss your lips good with the blade of my axe? |
Oh shit! |
The dimension is folding again! |
Ah!» |