[chorus 2x]
you canand't kill me cause iand'm already dead
one for the butcher knife, two for the glock
[verse 1 - necro]
peep my little friend his name is m-16
i got the butcher knife to cut ya fuckin heart out for kicks
iand'm on a killin spree like a nigger named manson
right around your grave kid is where iand'll be dancin
the cha cha, you try to flex and i shot ya
ten to the head
and now your motherfuckin brain dead
mad mooney means mad clips
i got more rubber in my glock that atraficial hips
so now your dead kid cause you fuckin bled kid
every time i shot you in your motherfuckin head kid
when you call my sucidal phone line
iand'll tell you to blow your fuckin brains out wit a 45
blowin off ya head is somethin i provoke
so light an m-80 and shove it down your fuckin throat
the rougher, the tougher, iand'm the mesiah
my rhymes are thicker than the afro of richard pryor
so fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck
if you step up to the corpse then your goin to catch a fuck you stupid fuck
check out the way that he groves
then call me horney, cause i fuck anything that moves
my fucked up rhymes are sure to offend ya
so iand'll drive over your body like the niggers from
toxic avenger
rip out your brain through your nose
and when your girl comes over, i got a whole selection of dildos
so die, motherfucker, die
and donand't ask me why +punks+ get +bruised up+ like so lay moon fry
i rock a house part like iand'm lyle
then iand'll fuck the dead corpse to techno cause iand'm a necrophile
so if you want caca, get wit dis
if not, iand'll bust out my dick and piss in your esaphogus
i drank a looters deposit
mad mooneyand's out like a faggot that just came out of the fuckin closet
[chorus]
[verse 2 - goretex]
check one two i got clout like a mortician
i got more fresh party than donnaand's kitchen
a lime to a lemon and lemon to a lime
i rock a dead niggers skin every time i drop a rhyme
the storm troopers of death, kid thatand's how it goes
no one knows why i want your money and your close
i stink like sex i rob bitches welfare check
and i rob more cribs than malcolm x
yes its the bitcher with more dick then clark
i love to bash bitches on the head in cntral park
postion sick infamous junky
a tech nine connected to my spine shows iand'm fuck
the fridge it filled with fresh killed body parts
from niggers who dissed me to bitches who broke my heart
now iand'm mister murder, insert it in her
baptised in blood iand'm the celebate convertor
aint misbehavin sick like west cravin
iand'm open ya mommas legs vaginas iand'm shaven
bitin the heads off cocks like ozzy ozzbourne
dead celebrities with the children of the corn
the butcher knife glock screamin till you die
goretex put me in the chair till i fry
[chorus]
