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letra de dope fiend '94 - ill bill

[verse 1]
let me get that needle, p-ss it,
when it comes to the get high, baby i’m a junky b-st-rd
the fastest, so i’m a flow exempt me
let me get a dozen bagels and a ???
now please arrest me, officer,
’cause i started lookin’ in the nautica
polo, tommy hillfiger sweater
mr. woody harrilson couldn’t do no better
i’m natural born to the motherf-ckin’ letter
for pleasure, i dig out your brain like treasure
take your blood pressure, examine, measure
discover, twenty years ago i f-cked your mother
i’m a born junky, i’ll never recover

[chorus x2]
let me get that needle, p-ss it, when it comes to bein’ the dope fiend,
kid i got’s to have it
let me get that needle, p-ss it, when it comes to the get high,
baby i’m a junky b-st-rd

[verse 2]
i be gettin’ voodoo raw like greek s-x
i’m searchin’ for six chicks wit’ sloppy t-ts hangin’ off their chests
f-ck kickin’ flavor in your ear,
i’d rather kick you in your f-ckin’ c-nt, then rip off your br-ssiere
i’m here, mr. i-double-l-b,
a-double-l, puffin’ on a nick a crack in my jail-cell
they pay me well for my services
when i murder kids, i -rg-sm
then i get rid of the evidence
left up on the scene of the crime
i spit back inside of my mouth when i rhyme
bl–dy, little punk -ss, rudy-dudy
let me get your crack-rock and all your money
sonny, i’m a f-ckin’ sicky
i’m a six-inch it in then toss you in the lake like ricki
illin’ like a handy-capped spaz
peep the soup-b-ss, rippin’ out the frame of your -ss

[chorus x2]

[verse 3]
walkin’ through the rain, i saw you
you were holdin’ hands, i’m startin’ to feel like orange juice jones
i don’t really care if you just returned your gl-sses
i’m a take a butcher knife to your sorry -sses
(?) stop fantasizing about pizza-pies wit’ (?)
body parts n sh-t, get your f-ckin’ throat slit
’cause i’m a modern crazy guy, you’re all gonna die
so why even bother actin’ fly on the plane to chicago
call hertz rent a rental car
think your crazy ’cause you got a scar
think again, i’ll cut you again
i’m a put that doody-c-sserole inside of your mother’s oven

[chorus x2]

- ill bill

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