Ill Bill - One For the Butcher Knife lyrics

[Hook] One for the butcher knife, two for the Glock! (You can't k** me, cause I'm already dead) [Necro] Peep my little friend his name is M one six I got the butcher, knife, to cut your f**in' heart out for kicks I'm on a k**ing spree, like a n***a named Manson Write a rhyme on your grave kid, it's where I'll be dancin' The cha cha, you try to flex and I shot ya Ten to the head, and now you're motherf**in' brain dead Mad moonies need mad clips I got more rubber in my Glock than artificial hips So now you're dead kid Cause you f**in bled kid Every time I shot you in your motherf**in' head kid When you call my suicidal hotline I'll tell you to blow your f**in' brains out with a tek-9 Blowin off your lips is somethin I promote So light up an M-80 and shove it down your f**in' throat The rougher, the more you suffer, I'm the messiah My rhymes are thicker, than the afro on Richard Pryer So f**, f** f** f** If you step to the corpse than your goin' to catch a buck You stupid f** Check out the way to beat grooves They call me horny, cause I f** anything that moves My f**ed up rhymes are sure to offend ya So I'll drive over your body like the n***as from toxic avenger Rip out your brain through your nose And when a girl comes over I got a whole selection of dil*os So die motherf**er die And don't ask me why punks get bruised up like Soleil Moonfry I rock a house party like Molile And I f**ed a dead corpse to techno, cause I'm a necrophile So if you're warm ca-ca, get with this If not i'll bust out my dick, and piss in your esophagus I drank a blood donor's deposit Now Moony's out like a f*gget that just came out of the f**in' closet [Hook] One for the butcher knife, two for the Glock! (You can't k** me, cause I'm already dead) [Goretex] Check one, two, I got clout like a mortician I got more fresh body parts than Dahmer's kitchen A lime to a lemon, a lemon to a lime I rock a dead n***a skin every time I drop my rhyme The storm troopers in d**h gear, that's how it flows No one knows, I want your money and your clothes I stink like s**, I rob b**hes welfare checks And I rob more cribs than Malcolm X Yes it's the butcher with more Dick than Clark I love to bash b**hes on the head in central park Position, sicko, infamous junkie A tek-9 connected to my spine shows I'm funky The fridge is filled with fresh k**ed body parts The n***as who dissed me, the b**hes who broke my heart Now I'm mista murder The dil*o inserter Baptized in blood I'm the celebate converter Ain't misbehaven Sick like Wes Craven I'll open your mom's legs, vagina's unshaven Bitin' the heads off Glocks like Ozzy Osbourne Dead celebrities, with the Children of the Corn The butcher block Glock rock scream until you die Goretex put me in the chair till I fry [Hook] One for the butcher knife, two for the Glock! (You can't k** me, cause I'm already dead) [Ill Bill] The official distorted body parts chop-a-chops your body Piece by mothaf**in' piece Then I study the anatomical breakdown of the human physique The blood s**in freaks speaks then you drop the sea Need I say more? Maybe I do these days I be grabbin up my Glock whenever me and my crew Step into a n***a pullin' the trigger in this area Territories all occupied by hysteria And it gets scarier by the minute Cause I got n***as screamin' just like a b**h at the abortion clinic Damned if I do, damned if I don't I'll f** a pregnant b**h up her a** after I slit her throat And throw her body off of the roof top Chop chop, then drop pieces, dead celebrities releases The mostess grossest, sicker than multiple cirrhoses Mumbo jumbo, even your brain's hopeless Cause there's no hope when the camouflage is comin' at ya to get ya Food faced mask and two boots, the fracture Your f**ing face takes my size twelve Mr. Ill Bill is coming straight from hell To f** up a felon no turning back, my gat crack With hollow tips my tek rips then flips my stack, a f**in rap After the blood spoke I smoke another After I step up your pops I f** your mother Yeah, I'll hit the f**in' puss with my penis More fractured a chump drop adidas when my meat hits Between, bu*t cheeks, titties, and co*k lips My co*k sticks gross After my jizm jumps that's all she wrote Cause I'm f**in detected from the puss to my rectum Eye sockets to ear drums a deviated septum Pull out the Glock shoot the b**h with my Glock Collect my props, then Bill's out like acid rock [Hook] One for the butcher knife, two for the Glock! (You can't k** me, cause I'm already dead)