a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de 1990-sick (kill 'em all) (original) - spice 1

[chorus: spice 1]
k!ll em all (4x)
cause everybody dyin on this motherf-ckin alb-m
k!ll em all (4x)
don’t kick up in the dirt when i’m puttin in work
k!ll em all (4x)
cause everybody dyin on this motherf-ckin alb-m

[verse 1: spice 1]
i murda like this (this) i murda like that (that)
pull an ak-47 up out my motherf-ckin gangsta hat
professional columbian necktie, barbwire
strangler, over k!lla, dead f-ckin body hanga
peepin out the window with an a.k., pullin up on these copper
helicoptas, squad cars, swat teams with choppers
they tellin me, “n-gg-, get the f-ck out before ya die
if you surrender, we’ll make sure that you quickly fry”
should i kick open the door and go to war
or should i slit my throat
leave a pipe bomb and a f-ck you note
hallucinations of seein lynched bodies burnin
and all the po-po had faces like mark fuhrman
tear gas through my gl-ss window pane
they wanna put me back up in the nut house again
but i’m not goin back and take my prozac
they can keep the straight jacket
and leave a straight motherf-ckin jack
a straight motherf-ckin jack
a straight motherf-ckin jack

[chorus: spice 1]
(get the h-ll off my d-ck, i’m 1990-sick)
(1990-sick) -repeat 4x-

[verse 2: spice 1]
n-gg-‘s to pull the lynch, yayo case and stick
marcia clark screamin out murda, jumpin on oj’s d-ck
motherf-ckers still sufferin and healin
some high technology white boys blew up the f-ckin fed buildin
crazy n-gg-s still bangin and slangin crack
to the death, when the game put em up on they back
motherf-ckers catchin aids, from shootin hop
and phony n-gg-s still get sprayed up on the block
and i ain’t changed much, h-ll
i’m still smokin four or five motherf-ckin choppers before it’s twelve
motherf-ckers think they know me, but they don’t know
i’m sellin first cl-ss tickets to the murda show
don’t wanna rap about no n-gg-, let’s get it on
bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone
so all you n-gg-s up in the magazines talkin sh-t
get off my d-ck, i’m 1990-sick

[chorus]

[verse 3]
mobbin’ up out the cut ready to pow one
90-sick content of the alb-m
if there’s a k!ll for this, don’t k!ll me, i’m coming with the fury
playa haters getting hung up like a jury
so peep the game, i’m an old school g you know so well
the east bay gangster, leaving caution tape faces pale
i bails, sathe full moon after 12 o’clock
neighborhood watch scared to see who on the block
just federallis, no popo come around here
cause it’s a different time, different game, different year
1990-sick

[chorus]

- spice 1

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS