lirik lagu twisted insane – i’m sick of
[intro]
yeah
i’ll tell you what i’m sick of n-gga
errrrrrrruuuuuuugh
[verse 1]
i’m sick of seeing motherf-ckers in the game who be thinking they the sh-t
(murder n-ggas)
get a little fame in their name now they’re acting like a b-tch
(merc these n-ggas)
i will go up against anybody i don’t really care who it is
n-gga you down rate me, it will only be a minute ‘fore i bust your wig
and i was racing to kick him up out to sp-ce and
pulling out the machete, i’m ready like i was jason
take him into a state where he is giving up on his fate
with the pistol up in his face, and i’m giving no limitations
(whoop)
i’m serving these n-ggas
ain’t n0body from the slums heard of these n-ggas
when they say “where?” i don’t refer to you n-ggas
if you see them in the street just murder these n-ggas
hamburger these n-ggas
tuck your tail and run when a boss on the scene
f-ck around me and you’ll be off of the team
and you will only be remembered like a thought from a dream
(why?)
i’m sick of the n-ggas the kid smacked
then they come up on the ceiling and blow up off a diss track
when i run into a n-gga he liable to get smacked
when you’re going against insane n-gga there ain’t no “get back”
cause i ain’t on rapping n-gga
(what?)
you-diss-me-i-diss-you-too sh-t
i be on catch a n-gga
(haha!)
in the street with the heat then see who pull it
(whoop)
i be on f-ck guns
let’s put them to the ground then we go toe-to-toe
till someone hit the ground and we go blow-for-blow
then we put it on youtube so everbody’ll know
(you don’t want that n-gga)
h-ll nah homie
i don’t -ssociate with motherf-ckers that’s phony
even if they corny
some n-ggas h-ll up on it
i’m tigering like i’m tony
them n-ggas my little pony
strawberry shortcake-ing these n-ggas
make it so that you can see the fake in these n-ggas
disrespect me i’m overtaking these n-ggas
five-hundred degrees and baking these n-ggas
[hook]
they already know what the clique does
tripping then i hit them with the big slugs
run up on a n-gga then he b-tch up
that’s the type of sh-t that i’m sick of
when you call that b-tch never pick up
wolfing n-gga sh-t trying to get tough
when they see me them n-ggas try to switch up
that’s the type of sh-t that i’m sick of
that’s what i’m sick of
that’s what i’m sick of
(whoop)
that’s the type of sh-t that i’m sick of [x4]
[verse 2: bishop]
bang the deuces
hang with nooses
insane, suffer brain contusions
and stained i emerge out them flames, we g name the truest
when the dark side come and get ’em
serial k!ller, will you be my victim?
rigor mortis setting in
feel you chest stiffing
roll him in a swisher now my n-ggas get lifted
it’s the mind of a psycho, psycho
middle of the night with the rifle, rifle
put my right hand on the bible, i will
slice him up like micheal myers
left the remains all buried in the lake
texas chainsaw, wear a n-gga face
it’s the murdering murder rage, murder was the case
eat-eat it like an cannibal, come have a little taste
acting like an animal
tec-9 to calicos
spit in all directions when the b-tches get in battle mode
6-6-6
man these n-ggas throw up sick
off a bottle of jack daniels in the bottom of the pit
something like rambo, hollows in the clip
got a bad b-tch and she swallow all the d-ck
flash like a camera if you all up in my mix
smoking on the stupid got your n-ggas super lit
baby take a stroll with the k!ller
leave a n-gga hogtied, floating in a river
y’all just the small fries f-cking with a [k!ller?]
when i say i tip ’em i ain’t talking about a stripper
need some penicillin i’m affected with the sickness
sitting the the dark room, tripping with a slit wrist
sharper than a harpoon
turn them into shark food
i spit it for the villains and the misfits
[hook]
[verse 3]
i’m sick of seeing motherf-ckers on the screens and the magazines
i’m sick of seeing all these n-ggas on the scene wearing skinny jeans
and i’ll be off onto another level
the wicked rebel and often i’ll be confused with the devil
i’m never tipping the petal
and if i’m going to h-ll
i’m going straight for the whale like motherf-cking geppetto
(pinocchio n-ggas)
motherf-cker i’m ghetto
pulling up in the bucket a n-gga f-ck up he phantom
pick up a n-gga phone with no service say he was stranded
a couple of minutes later that motherf-cker has vanished
(whoop)
i spaz when i wanna
always i be talking on my bag full of ganja
anybody k!ll me i’ll come back in and haunt ya
you can find me in the dark with a strap and a launcher
i was in the house reading tales of the bible
with a bottle and a rifle when i’m strapped to the face
and my trigger finger itching
cause this b-tch is steady b-tchin
’bout some dishes in the kitchen; i’m a clack with the [k?]
they don’t give me credit
man this sh-t is so pathetic
i’ll be coming so original, and now you’re so synthetic
i was hoping somebody would find me and get behind me
but f-ck it i’ll do it by myself these motherf-cker’ll get it
cause i ain’t on rapping n-gga you-diss-me-i-diss-you-too sh-t
(whoop)
i be on clack a n-gga in the street with the heat and we’ll see who pulls it
i be on that shoot ’em all up in the face in the root of all evil night-time sh-t
take a trip into a different dimensions, body suspension, like i was lifted my n-gga that’s how high i get
why try? i hit
rigor mortis is setting in their bodies is looking brutal
never letting no part of his body go into waste
skin him into a skeleton, eat him like he was noodle
bang with this
brainsick sh-t
dead to the world like a walking zombie
sit up in the back with some cog-ni-ac
i got some zig-zag wraps and about a pound of ganjie
[hook]
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