Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Kill Kill Kill, artist - Madchild. Album song Lawn Mower Man, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.08.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Battle Axe, Suburban Noize
Song language: English
Kill Kill Kill |
Ohhh |
Oh shit, it’s time to ill |
MC’s it ain’t safe, e’rybody gettin' killed |
Your mammy (boom), your daddy (boom, boom) |
Gram Gram (boom) and your pappy (boom) |
And them little ugly ass, your ashy ass gets black they are so nappy |
No self hatred, I’m no racist, I hate everybody |
Kill your cat, kill your dog and the parakeet bitch |
Shoot your fish tank up like «Fuck them goldfish» |
M-m-m-madness and mayhem, P.M. |
to the A. M |
Stomp like the collector got a collection |
Of decomposing possessions |
Talent scout I’m out to find new specimens |
May I make a small suggestion? |
Rappers, stop lyin' through the speakers |
Cause I see directly through you like Jeepers Creepers |
Creepy, got a dumb flow |
Threatening me? |
I shit on all you, I needs lots of T.P. |
for my bunghole |
I’m not high, I’m not high, check my eyes |
I swear |
I’m just lyrically retarded and not all really there |
I’m a beast bitch, I’ll bully money from a grizzly bear |
As if a bear had money and went to school |
But in your dreams you can’t win, I’m a fuckin' nightmare |
Tommy Ray Glatman, dream assassin, Dreamscape |
You don’t know what I’m talkin' 'bout? |
Google it, I’ll wait |
Everybody in this bitch gon' get gunned down |
Boom, boom, boom, you don’t wanna hear that sound |
I’m goin' insane, hearin' voices in my brain |
They keep on tellin' me to do some really fucked up things |
This can’t be real, I’m really feelin' fuckin' ill |
They keep on sayin' «Everybody gettin' killed» |
They keep on tellin' me «Everybody gettin' killed» |
I hear 'em whisperin' «Everybody gettin' killed» |
Over and over «Everybody gettin' killed» |
Yo, yo |
I’m a white Beast boy like Adam Horovitz |
Stab you in the orifice, I’m darker than a horror flick |
(Boom) |
I put a bullet in your skull to make a peep hole |
Then lean your head against a tube so I can watch the Creep Show |
I’m a freak though |
Graphic rap-a-holic |
Splatter all your blood around the room like I was Jackson Pollock |
I’m all alone, I’ll crack your collarbone and haul it home |
And spread your guts around the wall and write a diabolic poem |
Like Michael Meyers with a knife cause I’m a psycho killer |
Listening to Michael Jackson Thriller, I’m a hyper villain |
I’ll smash your fuckin' skull and then say «nighty night» |
Tackle rappers wearing tighty whites like it was Friday Night Lights |
Pop a vitamin then squat like Spiderman |
Then take a fuckin' shit on all you rappers for entitlement |
Sneak into your studio then stab you till your speaker’s red |
Then take your Jordan 3's cause I’m a klepto and a sneaker head |
Gimmie your shoes |
Yeah, these are gonna fit |
Go look up 'psychopath' then find me in the dictionary |
Grinnin' ear to ear, in prison gear, I hope you bitches ready |
I fuck a nun missionary, get it? |
Missionary |
Got a lot of friends but momma thinks they’re all imaginary |
And they keep tellin' me to «kill, kill, kill» |
Murder, murder, roll a blunt and pop a pill, pill, pill |
And you won’t, but I will |
For a crisp dollar bill |
Shove your head so far up your ass you be talkin' shit at every meal |
I’m me |
I’m meat with cheese and some Molly powder in private |
Discussionals blowin' up on which rappers outta be silent |
I get so fly the stewardess can’t close her eyelids |
My Taliban homie thinks that I should be a pilot |
I don’t know, yes I’m the bomb |
Tick, tick, hide your child |
I’m happy killing you at work |
We call that service with a smile |
Just took some 'shrooms I guess I had the bad pile |
Burn a cross in front of your yard and blame that shit on Mad Child |