1990-sick Kill em All Lyrics by Spice 1

1990-sick Kill em All Lyrics

    Chorus:

    Kill em all (4x)
    Cause everybody dyin on this motherfuckin album
    Kill em all (4x)
    Don't kick up in the dirt when i'm puttin in work
    Kill em all (4x)
    Cause everybody dyin on this motherfuckin album

    [spice 1]

    I murda like this (this) i murda like that (that)
    Pull an ak-47 up out my motherfuckin gangsta hat
    Professional, columiban, necktie, barbwire
    Strangula, over killa, dead fuckin body hanga
    Peepin out the window with an a.k., pullin up on these copper
    Helicoptas, squad cars, swat teams with choppers
    They tellin me, "nigga, get the fuck out before ya die
    If you surrender, we'll make sure that you quickly fry"
    Should i kick open the door and go to war
    Or should i stick my throat
    Leave a pipe bomb and a fuck you note
    Hallucinations of seein lynched bodies burnin
    And all the po-po had faces like mark fuhrman
    Tear gas through my glass window pane
    They wanna put me back up in the nut house again
    But i'm not goin back and take my prozac
    They can keep the straight jacket
    And leave a straight motherfuckin jack
    A straight motherfuckin jack
    A straight motherfuckin jack

    Chorus

    (get the hell off my dick, i'm 1990-sick)
    (1990-sick) *repeat 4x*

    [spice 1]
    Nigga's to pull the lynch, yayo case and stick
    Marcia clark screamin out murda, jumpin on oj's dick
    Motherfuckers still sufferin and healin
    Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin fed buildin
    Crazy niggaz still bangin and slangin crack
    To the death, when the game put em up on they back
    Motherfuckers catchin aids, from shootin hop
    And phony niggaz still get sprayed up on the block
    And i ain't changed much, hell
    I'm still smokin four or five motherfuckin choppers before it's twelve
    Motherfuckers think they know me, but they don't know
    I'm sellin first class tickets to the murda show
    Don't wanna rap about no nigga, let's get it on
    Bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone
    So all you niggaz up in the magazines talkin shit
    Get off my dick, i'm 1990-sick

    Chorus

    [mc eiht]
    1990-sick, i grasp my dick
    The lunatic quick to grab my tech
    Put slugs up in your neck
    Compton is the city where i come from
    Desert eagle packin dum ditty ditty dum
    I won't just smoke you
    I be terrifyin horrifyin gyeah i'ma choke you
    The killa niggaz on hop
    We tear up your spot, eiht, spice, and my fuckin nigga pac
    Don't cross my path, no class
    I be like shit in your motherfuckin ass
    Bullets i spit at you, your hood i slid through
    Evil niggaz tryin to get rid of you
    No witnesses so don't ask no questions
    Flee the scene, one-time'll be arrestin
    Killa niggaz don't play that
    It's compton on no like your dome we stompin
    But in that gang affiliation
    Shit goes pop, we won't stop
    Uhhh, in 1990-sick

    Chorus: repeat 2x

    (get the hell off my dick, i'm 1990-sick)
    (1990-sick) *repeat 4x*

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