Chorus:







Kill 'em all (x4)



Cuz everybody dyin' on this muthafuckin' album



Kill 'em all (x4)



Don't kick up in the dirt when i'm 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 10's with choppas



They tellin' me "nigga, get the fuck 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 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 i'm 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, i'm 1990-sick)



(1990-sick) (x4)







Nigga's to pull the lynch



Yayo case and stick



Marcia clark screamin' out murda, jumpin' on oj's 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 ain't changed much, hell



I'm still smokin' four or five muthafuckin' choppas before it's twelve



Muthafuckas think they know me, but they don't know



I'm sellin' first class tickets to the murda show



Don't wanna rap about no nigga, let's 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, i'm 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 there's a cure for this, don't cure me



I'm comin' with the fury



Playa hata's 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 it's a different time, different game, different year



1990 sick







Chorusx2



(get the hell off my dick, i'm 1990-sick)



(1990-sick) (x4)












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