Lyrics I'm Sick Of - Young Bop, Twisted Insane

I'm Sick Of

Yeah
I’ll tell you what I’m sick of nigga
Errrrrrrruuuuuuugh
I’m sick of seeing motherfuckers in the game who be thinking they the shit
(Murder niggas)
Get a little fame in their name now they’re acting like a bitch
(Merc these niggas)
I will go up against anybody I don’t really care who it is
Nigga you down rate me, It will only be a minute 'fore I bust your wig
And I was racing to kick him up out to space and
Pulling out the machete, I’m ready like I was Jason
Take him into a state where he is giving up on his fate
With the pistol up in his face, and I’m giving no limitations
(Whoop)
I’m serving these niggas
Ain’t nobody from the slums heard of these niggas
When they say «Where?»
I don’t refer to you niggas
If you see them in the street just murder these niggas
Hamburger these niggas
Tuck your tail and run when a boss on the scene
Fuck around me and you’ll be off of the team
And you will only be remembered like a thought from a dream
(Why?)
I’m sick of the niggas the kid smacked
Then they come up on the ceiling and blow up off a diss track
When I run into a nigga he liable to get smacked
When you’re going against Insane nigga there ain’t no «get back»
Cause I ain’t on rapping nigga
(What?)
You-diss-me-I-diss-you-too shit
I be on catch a nigga
(Haha!)
In the street with the heat then see who pull it
(Whoop)
I be on fuck guns
Let’s put them to the ground then we go toe-to-toe
Till someone hit the ground and we go blow-for-blow
Then we put it on YouTube so everbody’ll know
(You don’t want that nigga)
Hell nah homie
I don’t associate with motherfuckers that’s phony
Even if they corny
Some niggas hell up on it
I’m tigering like I’m Tony
Them niggas My Little Pony
Strawberry Shortcake-ing these niggas
Make it so that you can see the fake in these niggas
Disrespect me I’m overtaking these niggas
Five-hundred degrees and baking these niggas
They already know what the clique does
Tripping then I hit them with the big slugs
Run up on a nigga then he bitch up
That’s the type of shit that I’m sick of
When you call that bitch never pick up
Wolfing nigga shit trying to get tough
When they see me them niggas try to switch up
That’s the type of shit that I’m sick of
That’s what I’m sick of
That’s what I’m sick of
(Whoop)
That’s the type of shit that I’m sick of
Bang the deuces
Hang with nooses
Insane, suffer brain contusions
And stained I emerge out them flames, We g name the truest
When the dark side come and get 'em
Serial killer, will you be my victim?
Rigor mortis setting in
Feel you chest stiffing
Roll him in a Swisher now my niggas get lifted
It’s the mind of a psycho, psycho
Middle of the night with the rifle, rifle
Put my right hand on the Bible, I will
Slice him up like Micheal Myers
Left the remains all buried in the lake
Texas chainsaw, wear a nigga face
It’s the murdering murder rage, Murder Was the Case
Eat-eat it like an cannibal, come have a little taste
Acting like an animal
Tec-9 to Calicos
Spit in all directions when the bitches get in battle mode
Man these niggas throw up sick
Off a bottle of Jack Daniels in the bottom of the pit
Something like Rambo, Hollows in the clip
Got a bad bitch and she swallow all the dick
Flash like a camera if you all up in my mix
Smoking on the stupid got your niggas super lit
Baby take a stroll with the killer
Leave a nigga hogtied, floating in a river
Y’all just the small fries fucking with a
When I say I tip 'em I ain’t talking about a stripper
Need some penicillin I’m affected with the sickness
Sitting the the dark room, tripping with a slit wrist
Sharper than a harpoon
Turn them into shark food
I spit it for the villains and the misfits
I’m sick of seeing motherfuckers on the screens and the magazines
I’m sick of seeing all these niggas on the scene wearing skinny jeans
And I’ll be off onto another level
The wicked rebel and often I’ll be confused with the devil
I’m never tipping the petal
And if I’m going to hell
I’m going straight for the whale like motherfucking Geppetto
(Pinocchio niggas)
Motherfucker I’m ghetto
Pulling up in the bucket a nigga fuck up he phantom
Pick up a nigga phone with no service say he was stranded
A couple of minutes later that motherfucker has vanished
(Whoop)
I spaz when I wanna
Always I be talking on my bag full of ganja
Anybody kill me I’ll come back in and haunt ya
You can find me in the dark with a strap and a launcher
I was in the house reading tales of the Bible
With a bottle and a rifle when I’m strapped to the face
And my trigger finger itching
Cause this bitch is steady bitchin
'bout some dishes in the kitchen;
I’m a clack with the
They don’t give me credit
Man this shit is so pathetic
I’ll be coming so original, and now you’re so synthetic
I was hoping somebody would find me and get behind me
But fuck it I’ll do it by myself these motherfucker’ll get it
Cause I ain’t on rapping nigga you-diss-me-I-diss-you-too shit
(Whoop)
I be on clack a nigga in the street with the heat and we’ll see who pulls it
I be on that shoot 'em all up in the face in The Root of All Evil night-time
shit
Take a trip into a different dimensions, body suspension, like I was lifted my
nigga that’s how high I get
Why try?
I hit
Rigor mortis is setting in their bodies is looking brutal
Never letting no part of his body go into waste
Skin him into a skeleton, eat him like he was noodle
Bang with this
Brainsick shit
Dead to the world like a walking zombie
Sit up in the back with some cog-ni-ac
I got some Zig-Zag wraps and about a pound of ganjie