Brotha Lynch Hung - Siccmade House lyrics

Yeah, the Baby k**a's back up in this mothaf**a... Straight from tha grave, it gets so deep right under the Garden Blocc... Oh, me? Ya can just call me Manson...Yeah, we met before... But ya forget that I ain't gonna die so I'm back up this mothaf**a... So peep the mothaf**in' words from the dead man, yeah... (Brotha Lynch Hung) And when I pack me a gun and, oh, when I was young I dreamed of feedin' them n***as n***as with a suflet a la gun Mothaf**as get hung, my bullet weights a ton The Garden Blocc Don, the valley of the slum Tha cannibalistic n***a that got that 9 millimeter gun That n***a that n***a that got them mothaf**as on the run They thought that I was done but Lynch is not the one To go out from a gunshot wound, n***a, I'm not done that soon b**hes, they come but nut like the rest, caught one in the chest Shoulda wear a vest and, oh, what a bloody mess Puffin' off the cess, dealin' with the stress, k**in' off the less... Fortunate but they trip when my nine gets sick Them n***as either die or stays back off my dick Cause I'm that n***a they call Lynch, I got'em n***as fiendin' for my sh** I empty clips, drinkin', f**in' with tha splift And it's the n***a that k** for reason, it's the Season Of The Sicc That's why I got the urge to shoot that p**y clit And k** that infint, so what is my intent? To show mothaf**as that livin' life ain't sh** I guess it gets real sick and eatin' bloody clit, the baby k**a sh** Put'em in a grave with an empty 40 ounce bottle and won't even trip Cause livin' with tha Tripple-Six Ya learn to f** devil in his mouth and eat the sh** out of his b**h And I admit: my brain is kinda sick But now I'm like J. Dahmer, I'm chewin' up all the evidence I k**ed to cure my fit, the human meat fix Bitin' to the skin rips, that sick n***a, so sick Livin' dead ever since... (Grisly voice) Yeah, do ya wanna know what that Siccness is? That Siccness is when ya hug ya mama and ya dick that who*e... All ya do is walkin' with ya baby's mama and she's s**in' ya sons Dick... That's the mothaf**in' Siccness... So, ya mothaf**as don't ya forget that sh**... And don't forget where the Sicc came from... That n***a Lynch... (Brotha Lynch Hung) I take my mouth off up that cog and trip Cause eatin' dead p**y clit I make ya sick But it's the Season so my reason is legit I'm havin' fits, I dreamed of eatin' bloody p**y clit's since I was Six I fiend for a dead p**y on dick, I gotta skits Meanin' I don't give a sh** about ya biyatch That n***a that's from tha Blocc, k**in' up tha cog, so, n***a, Shii-it Baby barbeque ribs and guts and, ah, don't let me get too deep Fryin' baby nuts, s*uts get ate out alike, dank is what crooked teeth Heard I pull the Tampax-string out and straight put in work And puttin' work without that sick, so page a n***a quick So I can sell ya some of this sh** and have ya murderin' ya biyatch Cause me and Tripple-Six grew up f**in' b**hes up the gut With tha 9-millimater clip, Season Of The Sicc, picture this: p**y meat ripped in pan full of nuts and guts and entrails sh** I guess they chewin' on tha clit, the sick, they just don't understand It It's so outlandish, chewin' n***a nuts to cure my fit The human meat fix, bitin' to the skin rips, that sick n***a, so sick Livin' dead ever since