Brotha Lynch Hung - Sit in That Corner b**h! lyrics

No Sit in that f**in' corner b**h (No just sit in that f**in' corner and shut the f** up b**h) Should've kept you off the internet Just sit in that f**in' corner b**h Shut the f** up Verse 1 Razorblade the nipples, baby breastfeed me I just saw your face on the TV, look at that, and they already think you're laying six feet deep Took a nap, now they on the news talking 'bout how they want the hooker back I gave her back to 'em, but not before I took a bat, bashed her in the head Bathed in it and played in it and smashed in the shev back to the hideout sh**, I took a machete and dug her f**ing eyes out Now I'm on the internet, motherf**er why not? MySpace is my place; pick her up and tie knots Got her on the bed playing dead, f** it then I took her to the bathtub And made her bloody red, no matter what he said n***a he's the ripgut, I saw him slice a n***a's dick up And cut a n***a's b**h up, put her in the trash bag and that's that He's on Facebook, she's in the space look Chorus Sit in that f**ing corner b**h! (Where's my motherf**ing razorblade) (Hey, I'm telling you b**h, you better take me serious) Sit in that corner b**h! (Remember when you got that computer for Christmas?) (Yeah that's why you're here) Sit in that f**ing corner b**h (sh** you should've told him you wanted sum umm damn Christian Louis Vuittons) Sit in that corner b**h (Now I'm about to cut you, and heat you and beat you and eat you b**h) Verse 2 She asked me for a cigarette, here you go b**h bet First pull out your titties and I promise I can get you wet After I slit your neck, I keep 'em brainwashed, cut open the score Cold water they get their brains washed I'm in the kitchen with the Ithaca ripping your b**hes' britches And b**hin to get you to split the guts Outta my mouth, I'ma get that outta my house By cooking it and eating it and then I'm sh**ting it out Like I do MC's, you won't find sh** all in the couch sh** in the bathroom and sh** in the mouth And razorblades and alcohol, sh** in the pouch Like 50 b**hes on their period, I'm serious now It's about to take 3 hours like ham hogs Trust me I'm tryna feed all them kids and the damn dog I don't wan no ransom I'm sicker than Charles Manson, and some Like Chucky I'm cutting the bu*t cheeks