Insane Clown Posse - Psychopathic lyrics

The ghettos of America are breeding grounds For the criminal minded As for years they have k**ed one another of And America has enjoyed its creation But now these ghetto-minded criminals Have crossed the line into your neighborhood And will soon give you a taste of the hell That they have lived for so long So pops, this time its your son gets shot Deal with your own creation Well, I've been to the storm house and then some Payed me dues but I'm still a street hoodlum Dropped out of school cuz I couldn't find my locker Stubbles on my chin, I got hair like Chewbacca Might see me sleeping on the street Don't look for a job cuz there's no jobs looking for me Then it all went to my head Next, forty-nine motherf**ers dead Tell the pigs I did it Place spot at your back And beat you in the head with it And keep your b**h in place Or I'm a send her a** home with a foot print on her face Uh, I'm hating s*uts Shoot them in the face, steb back and itch my nuts 'Less I'm in the sac Cuz I f** so hard it'll break they back All the pressure's packed into one nut I was waiting on a bus and my head blew up And the sight'll make ya sick Violent J, motherf**er, psychopathic Psychopathic Thought you know b**h The ICP is made up of psychotic Demented psycho clumsy motherf**ers And we'll put a hook on your bumb leg Like it ain't nobody's business So I'm standing by the train tracks Then you see me running but naked with a battle axe I'm swinging and slicing and chopping and cutting and.. Aah, until I'm nuttin' Seems like I always get beat down Like the hawk turned to the wicked clown Tail turned out to the ghetto cuz Southwest Detriot is comended one's home So you might see me at a festival Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicles With a cold two-liter in hand Rapping to the b**h at the french fry stand Take it to the Patent Park Then I'll make a s**ist remark Cuz they're all eventually b**hing Serve me f**ing take your a** to the kitchen Police don't like me it's obvious Just don't look in the trunk Or the sight'll make you sick Violent J, motherf**er, psychopathic (theme from "Halloween") Yeah, I've always been a psycho Psycho-psycho-sick-psycho-sick-psycho-psycho I'll throw rocks at stray dogs Build crackhouses out of Lincoln logs I cut cla**, said I was a faker You was in school, I was home watching Green Acres Now I'm all up in your face You can barely hear the rap with all that ba** I'm running with a southwest street gang And I never let my southwest meat hang Cuz you know what ICP's all about Take a brick off the street And bust you in the mouth Find the girl's daddy's rich And his sweet little angel's my sewer freak b**h But I filled the turkey up with the stuffing Like Billy Bill say, "a b**h ain't nothing" Grab her by the arm and break Grab her by the life and take it And, ya know, the sight'll make ya sick Violent J, motherf**er, psychopathic Psychopathic