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

Tail turned out to the ghetto cuz

Southwest Detriot is comended one's home

So you might see me at a festival

Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicles

With a cold two-liter in hand

Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand

Take it to the Patent Park

Then I'll make a sexist remark

Cuz they're all eventually bitching

Serve me fucking take your ass to the kitchen

Police don't like me it's obvious

Just don't look in the trunk

Or the sight'll make you sick

Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic

(theme from "Halloween")

Yeah, I've always been a psycho

Psycho-psycho-sick-psycho-sick-psycho-psycho

I'll throw rocks at stray dogs

Build crackhouses out of Lincoln logs

I cut class, said I was a faker

You was in school, I was home watching Green Acres

Now I'm all up in your face

You can barely hear the rap with all that bass

I'm running with a southwest street gang

And I never let my southwest meat hang

Cuz you know what ICP's all about

Take a brick off the street

And bust you in the mouth

Find the girl's daddy's rich

And his sweet little angel's my sewer freak bitch

But I filled the turkey up with the stuffing

Like Billy Bill say, "a bitch ain't nothing"

Grab her by the arm and break

Grab her by the life and take it

And, ya know, the sight'll make ya sick

Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic

Psychopathic