lirik lagu psycho funk – ganksta nip
a psycho -ss n-gg-, i’m dissin’ your crew
if you don’t like the way i rap, tough sh-t n-gg- f-ck you
it’s time for a murder, i’m finna’ kick -ss
breast feed newborn babies with unleaded gas
blood gushin’ out your head, it’s getting thicker and thicker
pour some chocolate on your arm so it can taste like a snicker
push your -ss off a building, check to see if you’re dead
blast back a second blade, plus i’ll sharpen your f-ckin’ head
i’m strapped with the uzi, so get ready to die
catch a n-gg-‘ while he sleep and strike a match in his eye
i’ll sneak in your house and kill your -ss for fun
check to see if you’re still sleepin’, burn a hole in your tongue
bl–dy bodies in caskets, the measure are drastic
dead babies in my house suffocated by plastic
think you can beat me? you gotta’ be jokin’ hoe…
threw a brick in houston, texas, broke a window in tokyo
your sister stole my money, that’s alright, i’ma slam her
catch that b-tch by herself, and beat her the f-ck up with a hammer
throw your daughter in the air, hope that b-tch break her leg
be nice and help her up and kick her dead in the head
no bullsh-ttin’, you must be smokin that rock hoe
snatch some meat out your stomach so i can make me a taco
[chorus and break:]
you’ll bleed from your head to your toe
that’s how it is, when you f-ckin wit’ a psycho
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
a mothaf-ckin’ psycho… i need to be dead
took the knife out of my neck and ate the meat out’ my own head
necks and throats, bein’ brutally torn’
arms and legs dipped in blood taste good with some popcorn
i’m mentally psycho, insane with a triple-six
six hundred dead cat heads screamin’ in a crucifix
yo i’ll be d-mned if i don’t get no respect
drunk a pint of goat’s blood, then i died in a squirrel’s nest
yeah
you mothaf-ckas’ said you think that i’m soft
that’s why you’ bleedin’ with a thousand dead rats in yo’ f-ckin mouth
to kill a n-gg-‘ is a chance i can’t p-ss up
after hitting you wit’ a stick, naw’ don’t fall… get yo’ -ss up!
some say i’m crazy, some say i’m a crook
cut up his body so d-mn bad, the flies said “uuuhhn!?”
i won’t stop shootin’ til’ somebody gets shot
a bunch of bl–dy cut off fingers, anybody want red hots?
i won’t sweat, but then i’m a threat
here’s a bullet for you, and your child that ain’t born yet
you mothaf-ckas’ still tryin’ to diss
beat a n-gg-‘ in his chest til’ his stomach say “f-ck this!”
a violent n-gg-, stickin punks like paste
hoe, i’ll slap yo’ -ss so hard my hand will go through yo’ f-ckin’ face
marriage –
me and yo’ mama getting married soon…
after i f-ck her i’ma kill her at the honeymoon
[chorus and break:]
you’ll bleed from your head to your toe
that’s how it is, when you f-ckin wit’ a psycho
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
this is a mothaf-ckin’ warning.
a d-mn red alert
squeeze yo’ neck with some pliers til’ i see blood squirt
i’ma crazy mothaf-cka’, smokin’ punks is my joy
you don’t really wanna’ f-ck with me boy
flashbacks from panama makes the gangster elite
12 o’clock i’m out searching for some good looking brains to eat
growin’ and showin’, steady
you talkin’ sh-t to me? you must don’t know who you f-ckin’ with
see what i’m saying; ganksta nip means “doom”
mercenary plus a ninja, rifleman in a courtroom
throats on a kite, got intentions to fight
bodybags in the street, dogs eat good for a week
b-tch i’ll shoot you in your face, you think i won’t do it?
charles manson, freddy krueger, makin’ babies drink lighter fluid
yeah i’ma gangster, i ain’t got time to be mushy
keep yo’ b-tch out my face ’cause i might blow up her p-ssy
graveyard in my bed, only when i get mad
arms and legs in my closet, heads and throats in my trashbag
talkin’ that sh-t, you’ll get beat with some switches
blew up a convalescent center ’cause i hate old b-tches
i try to be cool, but y’all won’t leave me alone
south park lunatic, with the mind of jim jones
i’m hard to beat, favorite food is raw meat
two-hundred blenders in my head, crushin’ heads like pigs’ feet
[chorus and break:]
you’ll bleed from your head to your toe
that’s how it is, when you f-ckin wit’ a psycho
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
(a raging psychotic, psychopath talkin’)
(…ain’t playin with y’all…)
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