brotha lynch hung – siccmade house lyrics
yeah, the baby killa’s back up in this mothaf-cka…
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 mothaf-cka…
so peep the mothaf-ckin’ 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-gg-s n-gg-s with a suflet a la gun
mothaf-ckas get hung, my bullet weights a ton
the garden blocc don, the valley of the slum
tha cannibalistic n-gg- that got that 9 millimeter gun
that n-gg- that n-gg- that got them mothaf-ckas on the run
they thought that i was done but lynch is not the one
to go out from a gunshot wound, n-gg-, i’m not done that soon
b-tches, they come but nut like the rest, caught one in the chest
shoulda wear a vest and, oh, what a bl–dy mess
puffin’ off the cess, dealin’ with the stress, killin’ off the less…
fortunate but they trip when my nine gets sick
them n-gg-s either die or stays back off my d-ck
cause i’m that n-gg- they call lynch, i got’em n-gg-s fiendin’ for my
sh-t
i empty clips, drinkin’, f-ckin’ with tha splift
and it’s the n-gg- that kill for reason, it’s the season of the sicc
that’s why i got the urge to shoot that p-ssy cl-t
and kill that infint, so what is my intent?
to show mothaf-ckas that livin’ life ain’t sh-t
i guess it gets real sick and eatin’ bl–dy cl-t, the baby killa sh-t
put’em in a grave with an empty 40 ounce bottle and won’t even trip
cause livin’ with tha tripple-six
ya learn to f-ck devil in his mouth and eat the sh-t out of his b-tch
and i admit: my brain is kinda sick
but now i’m like j. dahmer, i’m chewin’ up all the evidence
i killed to cure my fit, the human meat fix
bitin’ to the skin rips, that sick n-gg-, so sick
livin’ dead ever since…
[grisly voice]
yeah, do ya wanna know what that siccness is?
that siccness is when ya hug ya mama and ya d-ck that wh-r-…
all ya do is walkin’ with ya baby’s mama and she’s suckin’ ya sons
d-ck…
that’s the mothaf-ckin’ siccness…
so, ya mothaf-ckas don’t ya forget that sh-t…
and don’t forget where the sicc came from…
that n-gg- lynch…
[brotha lynch hung]
i take my mouth off up that cog and trip
cause eatin’ dead p-ssy cl-t i make ya sick
but it’s the season so my reason is legit
i’m havin’ fits, i dreamed of eatin’ bl–dy p-ssy cl-t’s since i was
six
i fiend for a dead p-ssy on d-ck, i gotta skits
meanin’ i don’t give a sh-t about ya biyatch
that n-gg- that’s from tha blocc, killin’ up tha cog, so, n-gg-,
shii-it
baby barbeque ribs and guts and, ah, don’t let me get too deep
fryin’ baby nuts, sl-ts get ate out alike, dank is what crooked teeth
heard
i pull the tampax-string out and straight put in work
and puttin’ work without that sick, so page a n-gg- quick
so i can sell ya some of this sh-t and have ya murderin’ ya biyatch
cause me and tripple-six grew up f-ckin’ b-tches up the gut
with tha 9-millimater clip, season of the sicc, picture this:
p-ssy meat ripped in pan full of nuts and guts and entrails sh-t
i guess they chewin’ on tha cl-t, the sick, they just don’t understand
it
it’s so outlandish, chewin’ n-gg- nuts to cure my fit
the human meat fix, bitin’ to the skin rips, that sick n-gg-, so sick
livin’ dead ever since
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