Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Psychopath Killer, artist - Slaughterhouse. Date of issue: 23.11.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Psychopath Killer |
| I guess you could consider it poetry |
| But with me it started out with just words, just words |
| They started looking like puzzle pieces |
| So I started connecting them to each other |
| 'til they started to resemble blank canvases |
| By this time I was an artist |
| So I just started to see these pictures |
| These real visuals |
| I'm a psychopath, I'm a killer |
| (I'm a psychopath, I'm a killer |
| I'm a psychopath, I'm a killer |
| A psychopath, I'm a killer |
| A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| Feelin' it in the air, breathe it in the night |
| Staring at the full moon |
| Did you ever think you would come to find? |
| Maybe in my dreams |
| I'm a psychopath, I'm never keepin' it plain |
| Lyrical murder is somethin' I've been about |
| Ever since I was a little kid, doodlin' in class |
| Drew a picture of my teacher, bullet in his head, ruler in his ass |
| With a toilet in front of him, throwin' up, pissed off |
| Prolly symbolic of this thought, sick taught |
| 'Til my inner enemy interrupts |
| I'm havin' nightmares of leavin' behind my dreams |
| With anything less than a full bank |
| It's like I'm General Hong, and I'm standin' in front of a gun |
| I'm puttin' myself in the way of a bullet to pull rank |
| The hood is over my eyes but the wool ain't |
| Yeah, got the mentality of bein' with a wizard |
| Every award show, we don't even get considered |
| How do you sell somethin' that's so lyrical |
| To a kid who wouldn't know what was hittin' if it hit him? |
| Now I wanna talk about these niggas from Detroit |
| Before me and Shady, who was thinkin' 'bout Detroit? |
| We put the world onto it so watch how you say "fuck me" |
| You just might jinx yourself, whoops, your girl gon' do it |
| 'Cause I was in that 911 in Chicago, 911 at the same time |
| I had already been grindin' since '97, that's longevity |
| And if you think you're lyrically better, you better be a killer |
| (I'm a psychopath, I'm a killer) Oh yeah |
| You ain't ever seen a motherfucker get realer |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| Pull an automatic on anybody sporadic I choose |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| 'Cause ain't nobody iller, no one, nobody for realer |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| This elite drinker is the ringleader |
| I'm a deep thinker, I'm a street preacher |
| With a street sweeper full of heat seekers |
| In your Jeep speakers I'mma keep ringers |
| I don't need heaters, I got the meat cleaver |
| Welcome to the slaughterhouse |
| Niggas try to tell me I spell too much |
| Capital S to the laugh to the T-E-R |
| Ho, U-S-E, now go to hell you fucks, word |
| Making work disappear quick as magic |
| Abracadabra, the trafficker blacker than Africa |
| Can you imagine a nigga flipping bread for the blood? |
| Money like Dracula has him a spatula, ask me a question |
| Am I the best with the flexing? |
| Fuck yes with the goon talk |
| I just moonwalk all over the beat then I'm lightin' up the street |
| CROOKED going Michael Jackson on Thriller |
| (I'm a psychopath, I'm a killer) Oh yeah |
| You ain't ever seen a motherfucker get realer |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| Pull an automatic on anybody sporadic I choose |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| 'Cause ain't nobody iller, no one, nobody for realer |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| Feelin' it in the air, breathe it in the night |
| Staring at the full moon |
| Did you ever think you would come to find? |
| Maybe in my dreams |
| The thought of retiring is makin' me want |
| To set your daughter on fire with a soldering iron and |
| What up ma, I'm applyin' for the rim job, are you hirin'? |
| I'm hopin' to fill up your openin' |
| Oh but I know I gotta meet a lot of requirements |
| First I gotta accept you're in a lobby in Ireland |
| And you've probably already been with all the Slaughter and I am |
| In no mood to be playin' second fiddle, slob on this violin |
| With no strings attached |
| I'm just the product of a hostile environment |
| But bein' brought up so wrought up inspired |
| But I don't know why, it's still like I'm caught up inside a whirlpool |
| Not an appliance, but applyin' this science, I psychotically rhyme |
| And it's like stars are aligned all in alliance |
| Heart of a lion, balls of Goliath |
| Obscene talk intertwined like a beanstalk and a vine |
| But I keep walkin' the line between the wrong and the right |
| But everything I write seems wrong and it's like |
| I'm ecstatic at all the static that I can still cause |
| In the fabric of our modern society |
| Now Catholics are panicking 'cause I snapped back |
| To my old antics and shenanigans, dammit, the Pope's mad again |
| Probably shouldn't've ran up in the Vatican with that mannequin |
| Singin' "Bagpipes from Baghdad" again |
| In my dad's drag, draggin' a faggot in a GLAAD bag |
| Won't be the last time I make a dramatic entrance like that again |
| You thought I was lyin' when I said I think that I'm crossin' the line again |
| I've lost my mind, caution oh God I think I've just thought of another fucking line |
| Forgive me father, for I have sinned |
| But hip-hop has left me brainwashed with a violent...streak |
| Defiant, now the odds of me tryin' to fuckin' be quiet |
| Probably gotta be 'bout as high as the Jolly Green Giant |
| After he's fallen in pollen next to a killer beehive colony tryin' to sneak by it |
| While his feet stomp, follow me while I revive rap |
| I'ma start up a rioting, try to stop it or silence it |
| You're not gonna, might as well just hit the block in your joggin' attire in |
| Boston, across the marathon finish line than to |
| Put your thoughts against mine |
| 'Cause the arsenal I have'll scar you for life, worse than Dzhokhar |
| Tsarnaev with bombs, pliers and barbed wire |
| Your bars are like Barney Fife with a fucking Swiss army knife |
| A saberless Darth Vader with arthritis in a bar fight |
| With the Dark Knight on a dark night with his arms tied up |
| I'm Dahmer-like when I'm on the mic, I'm not gonna lie |
| I perform like I'm gonna die at the end of a song so it's hard for the rhyme to end |
| Like fuck 'em all I'm just ridin' |
| Like I’m locked up inside of a shot up Bonnie and Clyde car |
| Uncle Ronnie was driving, 'bout to burst in through the side door |
| Of Arkham Asylum and park in the dining room |
| (I'm a psychopath, I'm a killer) Oh yeah |
| You ain't ever seen a motherfucker get realer |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| Pull an automatic on anybody sporadic I choose |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |
| 'Cause ain't nobody iller, no one, nobody for realer |
| (A psychopath, I'm a killer) |