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letra de the wicketshit will never die - esham

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6
here comes the voodoo what’cha gone do when my crew
back from the dead once more again
f-ckin’ up the flow again, f-ck it here we go again
oh, not me again, last time i wrecked sh-t
burned down the church comin’ through like the exorcist
next to this, you get put on my sh-t list
throw lifers get dissed you can’t f-ck with this
wicked wild, wicked style, i don’t give a f-ck i’ll get buck
wild
i’m psycho just like michael
and i might go a little something like this, suicidalist
dangerous minds bust when i bust
digging up dust now i must, in god you trust
if i add just then i add just this
no justice, no peace, bl–dy body police
belly of da pig got me fiendin’ for a cracker
jack be nimble make your body tremble
cardiac arrest for the one in the chest
then i k-i-double l t-h-e-f-e-t-u-s
yes, i’m down with n-a-t-a-s, i suggest
you try but don’t cry, ’cause the wicked sh-t’ll never die

once again i ressurected n-gg-z unexpected
a closed casket when i leaped out and blasted a basket
case brother of insanity i’m not alone
havin’ fatal thoughts of puttin’ a chrome to my dome
now what kinda wicked sh-t? this some ol’ wicked sh-t
not so many n-gg-z all over devil diggin’ sh-t
stay up off my d-ck, my style’s sick, but i’m so sick of this
helter skelter bite my sh-t, it’s so ridiculous
i know my sh-t’s phatter than luther vandross
psychic connection wanna hit me with the holy ghost
overdose, diagnose, n-gg-z in a comotose
once i buck, buck ya, n-gg- motherf-ck ya
voodoo wicked child born a b-st-rd
visions of bl–dy bodies bein’ blasted
thinkin’ of excuses, voices in my head mental abuses
loses my mind, thought the flatline refuses
to answer, you can fess sh-t as you question
me and myself verses smith and wesson
i’m that n-gg- with the wicked -ss flow
b-tch you better act like you know
’cause the wicked sh-t will never die

the wicked sh-t will never 187
never go to heaven and f-ck that reverend
all day whenever and
feel like givin’ up, mind starts blowin’ up
some old wicked sh-t, once again i’m throwin’ up
a fit, i’m never gonna get into heaven
that’s why i bought me a three 57
f-ck a reverend, and god i can’t trust is true
so when i go to h-ll, better me and not you
i’ma walk the bl–dy trail and you can follow if you want
if you truly understand but my man i think you don’t
i’m a suicidal revital, my t-tle’s homicidal
so many n-gg-z will die when i write my recital
they don’t understand that i gotta plan for the klan
the area nation, white caucasian
i’m sick of all the bullsh-t i’d rather be dead
but first i better put a bullet in your head instead
they said that everything i said was a lie
but if you go and kill the fetus you cry
but the wicked sh-t will never die

- esham

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