Ill Bill - Fender Rhodes Suicide lyrics

[Verse 1: Ill Bill] The chariots of Satan, bare skin, black horses, and swords Blood thirsty dogs of war with big revolvers galore We from Glenwood projects with egos the size of cathedrals Goon flicks, white dudes with afros that's wild like Knievel Don't eat the brown acid, she devils in bellbottoms dancing Hippie b**hes surround Manson, underground anthems Of mainstream ma**acre Sharon Tate stomach lacerator Fetus remover, dripping like Eazy E's activator Like Mitch Green, my words of intrigue are sharp enough to make Your wrist bleed; that make even the hottest b**h fiend And blow dick; we so sick, we holding control of your whole life In a chrome clip, I blow up your whole sh** We the most focused here, like Mark Storace from Krokus You're over with, hit you with flying exploding fists My flying guillotines and razors hoping you quit Draining what's left of your soul, till you no longer exist [Hook: Necro] x2 Gangster guitars, 70s dust sh**, pump this! Stick a needle in, catch a fix, sacophone and trumpet Bop to the ride, Fender Rhodes Suicide [Verse 2: Goretex] I'm at your funeral, doing bong hits with Iommi I'm smoked out, zonked, like chrome, till my eyes are all foamy El Camino with the dubs [?] plates for the homies Dark throne holding it down, I spit a round for the cronies I'm the king of the park, with the booze and bombs taped to my suit [?] a violent femme, a p**y still unable to douche All these oxys got me hopped up on making the shoot What I do to your face, you make it seem [?] is the truth This is my war like Black Flag's, zipped up in the black bags Pissing on models pussies, just look at what the cat dragged Pentagram behind her ear, big tits with a little sag Young wizard rocking the hand of doom with a little [?] My project [?] with masks in the paper bags Buck-fifty turkey and swiss, two for you and your man Prime deli, oozing out your skull like jelly My goons are a threat to the world, we bury you in your Bently [Hook: Necro] x2