(Necro)
Uh
Peep the k**er sh**
d**h murder rap sh**
b**h
Check it
The press, runs the tape records the bloody mess
documentations of the human race, can study d**h
they'll reach in through your TV speaker
they'll feature
a creature that'll beat ya to d**h, if he can meet ya
your executed when your electrocuted
who's responsible for a homeless man thats dead
and smells putrid
we murdered your natural flesh after bein thrown in a river
you'll be frozen forever into a statue of d**h
a gra**hopper in the lab dead
stabbed in the head
knives are like the hands of a crab
jabbin your flab till you wrapped them and bled
throw you off a building
k**in off your children
drillin' holes in your corpse till your spillin' the colours of a million
i'll split your brains
i'll slit your vains
the impact of a bat cracked across your back
is like gettin hit by a train
i'll stick a fang in your blood bank
then strangle
my shangle bangle
you like the triangle
piece of an angle
I think my sh**'s too brutal for most
I might be the only one capable digesting the dose
you won't survive a screw driver driven inside your throat
choke on blood and saliva another kaniver croaks
CHORUS:
It's poetry in the streets of the big apple
and a vitality found in few other places
but look beneath the surface of the city
and you shall uncover a steamin sesspool of human emotion
gun sour, a planet, where nightmares
that become reality
witness the brutality
its poetry in the streets of the big apple
you get tackled
and grappled to the floor, white slaved up and shackled
I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth, and sh** on your face
grind you into slop meat and serve you to your friends
we movin bad taste
another brutal shootin rampage
turnin humans to ashtrays
doobies to crack slaves
and b**bies that lactate,
squirtin mad milk, i never have guilt
i have krills, i'll have you f*gs k**ed
in front of your mom and dads grill
splatterin both of them
with pieces of your explodin head
brain fragments stainin' clothing red
i make you love the pain, it hurts
we make music for drug addicts, pieces of sh**, that love the dirt
its psychological
i'm like havin a rifle shot at you
we not the type that smile at you
we the type that bite at you
slit your throat with the broken bottle
pieces of jagged gla** stabbin' you through your f**in eyeballs
have you swallowin cyanide screamin die who*es
k** your physical first, next your minds lost
leave you in the funeral home you make a fine corpse
got you splattered across the walls with my nine tongs
murder you execution style like a crime boss
travel through time and terminate you like a cyborg
my mentallity's grind core
Chorus