Brotha Lynch Hung - Siccmade lyrics

(Grisly voice) Yeah, the Baby k**a's back up in this motherf**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 motherf**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 soufle (soofley) a' la dunn Motherf**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 just like the rest, caught one in the chest Shoulda wore 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 stay stuck on 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** off that infant, so what is my intent? To show them mothaf**as livin' life ain't sh** I gets to gettin' real sick and eatin' bloody clit, the baby k**a sh** Put 'em in a grave with an empty 40 ounce bottle and don't leave a drip 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? The Siccness is when you hug your mama and ya dick get hard Or you walk in on your baby's mama and she's s**in' your son's 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 It wouldn't work without that sick, so page a n***a quick So I can serve ya some of this sh** and have ya murderin' ya biyatch Cause me and Triple-Six grew up f**in' b**hes up the gut With tha 9-millimeter clip, Season of the Sicc, picture this: p**y meat ripped in a pan full of nuts and guts and intestines and sh** I gets ta chewin' on tha clit, the sick, they just can't understand it It's so outlandish, chewin' n***a nuts to cure my fit The human meat fix, bitin' 'til the skin rips, that sick n***a, so sick Livin' dead ever since...