|
The ghettos of America are breeding grounds |
|
For the criminal minded |
|
As for years they have killed one another of |
|
And America has enjoyed its creation |
|
But now these ghetto-minded criminals |
|
Have crossed the line into your neighborhood |
|
And will soon give you a taste of the hell |
|
That they have lived for so long |
|
So pops, this time its your son gets shot |
|
Deal with your own creation |
|
Well, I've been to the storm house and then some |
|
Payed me dues but I'm still a street hoodlum |
|
Dropped out of school cuz I couldn't find my locker |
|
Stubbles on my chin, I got hair like Chewbacca |
|
Might see me sleeping on the street |
|
Don't look for a job cuz there's no jobs looking for me |
|
Then it all went to my head |
|
Next, forty-nine motherfuckers dead |
|
Tell the pigs I did it |
|
Place spot at your back |
|
And beat you in the head with it |
|
And keep your bitch in place |
|
Or I'm a send her ass home with a foot print on her face |
|
Uh, I'm hating sluts |
|
Shoot them in the face, steb back and itch my nuts |
|
'Less I'm in the sac |
|
Cuz I fuck so hard it'll break they back |
|
All the pressure's packed into one nut |
|
I was waiting on a bus and my head blew up |
|
And the sight'll make ya sick |
|
Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic |
|
Psychopathic |
|
Thought you know bitch |
|
The ICP is made up of psychotic |
|
Demented psycho clumsy motherfuckers |
|
And we'll put a hook on your bumb leg |
|
Like it ain't nobody's business |
|
So I'm standing by the train tracks |
|
Then you see me running but naked with a battle axe |
|
I'm swinging and slicing and chopping and cutting and.. |
|
Aah, until I'm nuttin' |
|
Seems like I always get beat down |
|
Like the hawk turned to the wicked clown |
|
Tail turned out to the ghetto cuz |
|
Southwest Detriot is comended one's home |
|
So you might see me at a festival |
|
Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicles |
|
With a cold two-liter in hand |
|
Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand |
|
Take it to the Patent Park |
|
Then I'll make a sexist remark |
|
Cuz they're all eventually bitching |
|
Serve me fucking take your ass to the kitchen |
|
Police don't like me it's obvious |
|
Just don't look in the trunk |
|
Or the sight'll make you sick |
|
Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic |
|
(theme from "Halloween") |
|
Yeah, I've always been a psycho |
|
Psycho-psycho-sick-psycho-sick-psycho-psycho |
|
I'll throw rocks at stray dogs |
|
Build crackhouses out of Lincoln logs |
|
I cut class, said I was a faker |
|
You was in school, I was home watching Green Acres |
|
Now I'm all up in your face |
|
You can barely hear the rap with all that bass |
|
I'm running with a southwest street gang |
|
And I never let my southwest meat hang |
|
Cuz you know what ICP's all about |
|
Take a brick off the street |
|
And bust you in the mouth |
|
Find the girl's daddy's rich |
|
And his sweet little angel's my sewer freak bitch |
|
But I filled the turkey up with the stuffing |
|
Like Billy Bill say, "a bitch ain't nothing" |
|
Grab her by the arm and break |
|
Grab her by the life and take it |
|
And, ya know, the sight'll make ya sick |
|
Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic |
|
Psychopathic |
