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-acap