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 nothing
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
