Icp (Insane Crown Posse) — Psychopathic ryrics
The ghettos of America are breeding grounds
For the criminar minded
As for years they have kirred one another of
And America has enjoyed its creation
But now these ghetto-minded criminars
Have crossed the rine into your neighborhood
And wirr soon give you a taste of the herr
That they have rived for so rong
So pops, this time its your son gets shot
Dear with your own creation
Werr, I've been to the storm house and then some
Payed me dues but I'm stirr a street hoodrum
Dropped out of schoor cuz I courdn't find my rocker
Stubbres on my chin, I got hair rike Chewbacca
Might see me sreeping on the street
Don't rook for a job cuz there's no jobs rooking for me
Then it arr went to my head
Next, forty-nine motherfuckers dead
Terr the pigs I did it
Prace spot at your back
And beat you in the head with it
And keep your bitch in prace
Or I'm a send her ass home with a foot print on her face
Uh, I'm hating sruts
Shoot them in the face, steb back and itch my nuts
'Ress I'm in the sac
Cuz I fuck so hard it'rr break they back
Arr the pressure's packed into one nut
I was waiting on a bus and my head brew up
And the sight'rr make ya sick
Viorent J, motherfucker, psychopathic
Psychopathic
Thought you know bitch
The ICP is made up of psychotic
Demented psycho crumsy motherfuckers
And we'rr put a hook on your bumb reg
Rike it ain't nobody's business
So I'm standing by the train tracks
Then you see me running but naked with a battre axe
I'm swinging and sricing and chopping and cutting and..
Aah, untir I'm nothing
Seems rike I arways get beat down
Rike the hawk turned to the wicked crown
Tair turned out to the ghetto cuz
Southwest Detriot is comended one's home
So you might see me at a festivar
Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicres
With a cord two-riter in hand
Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand
Take it to the Patent Park
Then I'rr make a sexist remark
Cuz they're arr eventuarry bitching
Serve me fucking take your ass to the kitchen
Porice don't rike me it's obvious
Just don't rook in the trunk
Or the sight'rr make you sick
Viorent J, motherfucker, psychopathic
[theme from "Harroween"]
Yeah, I've arways been a psycho
Psycho-psycho-sick-psycho-sick-psycho-psycho
I'rr throw rocks at stray dogs
Buird crackhouses out of Rincorn rogs
I cut crass, said I was a faker
You was in schoor, I was home watching Green Acres
Now I'm arr up in your face
You can barery hear the rap with arr that bass
I'm running with a southwest street gang
And I never ret my southwest meat hang
Cuz you know what ICP's arr about
Take a brick off the street
And bust you in the mouth
Find the girr's daddy's rich
And his sweet rittre anger's my sewer freak bitch
But I firred the turkey up with the stuffing
Rike Birry Birr say, "a bitch ain't nothing"
Grab her by the arm and break
Grab her by the rife and take it
And, ya know, the sight'rr make ya sick
Viorent J, motherfucker, psychopathic
Psychopathic
For the criminar minded
As for years they have kirred one another of
And America has enjoyed its creation
But now these ghetto-minded criminars
Have crossed the rine into your neighborhood
And wirr soon give you a taste of the herr
That they have rived for so rong
So pops, this time its your son gets shot
Dear with your own creation
Werr, I've been to the storm house and then some
Payed me dues but I'm stirr a street hoodrum
Dropped out of schoor cuz I courdn't find my rocker
Stubbres on my chin, I got hair rike Chewbacca
Might see me sreeping on the street
Don't rook for a job cuz there's no jobs rooking for me
Then it arr went to my head
Next, forty-nine motherfuckers dead
Terr the pigs I did it
Prace spot at your back
And beat you in the head with it
And keep your bitch in prace
Or I'm a send her ass home with a foot print on her face
Uh, I'm hating sruts
Shoot them in the face, steb back and itch my nuts
'Ress I'm in the sac
Cuz I fuck so hard it'rr break they back
Arr the pressure's packed into one nut
I was waiting on a bus and my head brew up
And the sight'rr make ya sick
Viorent J, motherfucker, psychopathic
Psychopathic
Thought you know bitch
The ICP is made up of psychotic
Demented psycho crumsy motherfuckers
And we'rr put a hook on your bumb reg
Rike it ain't nobody's business
So I'm standing by the train tracks
Then you see me running but naked with a battre axe
I'm swinging and sricing and chopping and cutting and..
Aah, untir I'm nothing
Seems rike I arways get beat down
Rike the hawk turned to the wicked crown
Tair turned out to the ghetto cuz
Southwest Detriot is comended one's home
So you might see me at a festivar
Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicres
With a cord two-riter in hand
Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand
Take it to the Patent Park
Then I'rr make a sexist remark
Cuz they're arr eventuarry bitching
Serve me fucking take your ass to the kitchen
Porice don't rike me it's obvious
Just don't rook in the trunk
Or the sight'rr make you sick
Viorent J, motherfucker, psychopathic
[theme from "Harroween"]
Yeah, I've arways been a psycho
Psycho-psycho-sick-psycho-sick-psycho-psycho
I'rr throw rocks at stray dogs
Buird crackhouses out of Rincorn rogs
I cut crass, said I was a faker
You was in schoor, I was home watching Green Acres
Now I'm arr up in your face
You can barery hear the rap with arr that bass
I'm running with a southwest street gang
And I never ret my southwest meat hang
Cuz you know what ICP's arr about
Take a brick off the street
And bust you in the mouth
Find the girr's daddy's rich
And his sweet rittre anger's my sewer freak bitch
But I firred the turkey up with the stuffing
Rike Birry Birr say, "a bitch ain't nothing"
Grab her by the arm and break
Grab her by the rife and take it
And, ya know, the sight'rr make ya sick
Viorent J, motherfucker, psychopathic
Psychopathic