| Pull an AK-47 up out my motherfuckin gangsta hat
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| Professional Columbian Necktie, barbwire
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| Strangler, over killa, dead fuckin body hanga
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| Peepin out the window with an A.K., pullin up on these copper
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| Helicoptas, squad cars, swat teams with choppers
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| They tellin me, «Nigga, get the fuck out before ya die
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| If you surrender, we’ll make sure that you quickly fry»
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| Should I kick open the door and go to war
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| Or should I slit my throat
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| Leave a pipe bomb and a fuck you note
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| Hallucinations of seein lynched bodies burnin
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| And all the po-po had faces like Mark Fuhrman
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| Tear gas through my glass window pane
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| They wanna put me back up in the nut house again
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| But I’m not goin back and take my prozac
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| They can keep the straight jacket
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| And leave a straight motherfuckin jack
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| A straight motherfuckin jack
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| A straight motherfuckin jack
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| (Get the hell off my dick, I’m 1990-sick)
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| (1990-sick) *repeat 4X*
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| Nigga’s to pull the lynch, yayo case and stick
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| Marcia Clark screamin out murda, jumpin on OJ’s dick
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| Motherfuckers still sufferin and healin
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| Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin fed buildin
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| Crazy niggas still bangin and slangin crack
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| To the death, when the game put em up on they back
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| Motherfuckers catchin AIDS, from shootin hop
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| And phony niggas still get sprayed up on the block
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| And I ain’t changed much, hell
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| I’m still smokin four or five motherfuckin choppers before it’s twelve
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| Motherfuckers think they know me, but they don’t know
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| I’m sellin first class tickets to the murda show
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| Don’t wanna rap about no nigga, let’s get it on
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| Bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone
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| So all you niggas up in the magazines talkin shit
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| Get off my dick, I’m 1990-sick
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| 1990-sick, I grasp my dick
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| The lunatic quick to grab my tech
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| Put slugs up in your neck
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| Compton is the city where I come from
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| Desert Eagle packin dum ditty ditty dum
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| I won’t just smoke you
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| I be terrifyin horrifyin gyeah I’mma choke you
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| The killa niggas on hop
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| We tear up your spot, Eiht, Spice, and my fuckin nigga Pac
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| Don’t cross my path, no class
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| I be like shit in your motherfuckin ass
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| Bullets I spit at you, your hood I slid through
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| Evil niggas tryin to get rid of you
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| No witnesses so don’t ask no questions
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| Flee the scene, one-time'll be arrestin
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| Killa niggas don’t play that
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| It’s Compton on no like your dome we stompin
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| But in that gang affiliation
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| Shit goes pop, we won’t stop
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| Uhhh, in 1990-sick
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| Chorus: repeat 2X
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| (Get the hell off my dick, I’m 1990-sick)
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| (1990-sick) *repeat 4X* |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 1990-Sick (feat. MC Eiht) , by - Spice 1. Song from the album The Greatest Hits, Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп