Текст песни Spice 1 - 1990Sick | Слова песни Spice 1 - 1990Sick | Тексты песен Spice 1

Артист:

1990Sick

Данные: текст песни / слова песни

Жанры : gangsta rap hip-hop rap west coast rap bay area

Видео: Spice 1 - 1990Sick

Chorus:

Kill em all (x4)

Cuz everybody dyin on this muthafuckin album

Kill em all (x4)

Dont kick up in the dirt when Im puttin in work

Kill em all (x4)

Cuz everybody dyin on this muthafuckin album

I murda like this (this)

I murda like that (that)

Pull an ak-47 up out my muthafuckin gangsta hat

Professinal, columiban, necktiea, barbwire

Strangula, over killa, dead fuckin body hanga

Peepin out the window with an ak

Pullin up on these coppas

Helicoptas, squad cars, squat 10s with choppas

They tellin me "nigga, get the fuck out before ya die

If you surrender, well make sure that you quickly fry"

Should I kick open the door and go to war

Or should I stick my throat

Leave a pipe bomb and a fuck you note

Hallucinations of seein lynched bodies burnin

And all the po-po had faces like mark furhman

Tear gas through my glass window pane

They wanna put me back up in the nut house again

But Im not goin back and take my prozac

They can keep the straight jacket

And leave a straight mutha fuckin jack

A straight mutha fuckin jack

A straight mutha fuckin jack

Chorus

(get the hell off my dick, Im 1990-sick)

(1990-sick) (x4)

Niggas to pull the lynch

Yayo case and stick

Marcia clark screamin out murda, jumpin on ojs dick

Muthafuckas still sufferin and healin

Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin fed buildin

Crazy niggas still bangin and slangin crack

To the death, when the game put em up on they back

Muthafuckas catchin names, from shootin high

And phony niggas still get sprayed up on the block

And I aint changed much, hell

Im still smokin four or five muthafuckin choppas before its twelve

Muthafuckas think they know me, but they dont know

Im sellin first class tickets to the murda show

Dont wanna rap about no nigga, lets get it on

Bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone

So all you niggas up in the magazines talkin shit

Get off my dick, Im 1990-sick

Chorus

Muh-uh-mobbin up out the cu-uh-cut

With a ready to pow one

Nuh-uh-90 sick content of the album

If theres a cure for this, dont cure me

Im comin with the fury

Playa hatas gettin hung up like a jury

So peep the game from an old school g you know so well

The east bay gangsta, leaving caution tape and faces pale

I bails on a full moon like the 12 o clock

Neighborhood watch scared to look and see who on the block

Just fed a rallys, no po-po come around here

Cuz its a different time, different game, different year

1990 sick

Chorusx2

(get the hell off my dick, Im 1990-sick)

(1990-sick) (x4)

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