The Wicketshit Will Never Die

(앨범: Closed Casket - 1994)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6
Here comes the voodoo what'cha gone do when my crew
Back from the dead once more again
Fucking up the flow again, fuck it here we go again
Oh, not me again, last time I wrecked shit
Burned down the church coming through like the exorcist
Next to this, you get put on my shit list
Throw lifers get dissed you can't fuck with this
Wicked wild, wicked style, I don't give a fuck I'll get buck wild
I'm psycho just like Michael
And I might go a little something like this, suicidalist
Dangerous minds bust when I bust
Digging up dust now I must, in God you trust
If I add just then I add just this
No justice, no peace, bloody body police
Belly of da pig got me fiending for a cracker
Jack be nimble make your body tremble
Cardiac arrest for the one in the chest
Then I K-I-double L T-H-E-F-E-T-U-S
Yes, I'm down with N-A-T-A-S, I suggest
You try but don't cry, 'cause the wicked shit'll never die

Once again I ressurected niggaz unexpected
A closed casket when I leaped out and blasted a basket
Case brother of insanity I'm not alone
Having fatal thoughts of putting a chrome to my dome
Now what kinda wicked shit? This some ol' wicked shit
Not so many niggaz all over devil digging shit
Stay up off my dick, my style's sick, but I'm so sick of this
Helter skelter bite my shit, it's so ridiculous
I know my shit's phatter than Luther Vandross
Psychic connection wanna hit me with the holy ghost
Overdose, diagnose, niggaz in a comotose
Once I buck, buck ya, nigga motherfuck ya
Voodoo wicked child born a bastard
Visions of bloody bodies being blasted
Thinking of excuses, voices in my head mental abuses
Loses my mind, thought the flatline refuses
To answer, you can fess shit as you question
Me and myself verses Smith and Wesson
I'm that nigga with the wicked ass flow
Bitch you better act like you know
'Cause the wicked shit will never die

The wicked shit will never 187
Never go to heaven and fuck that reverend
All day whenever and
Feel like giving up, mind starts blowing up
Some old wicked shit, once again I'm throwing up
A fit, I'm never gonna get into heaven
That's why I bought me a three 57
Fuck a reverend, and God I can't trust is true
So when I go to hell, better me and not you
I'ma walk the bloody trail and you can follow if you want
If you truly understand but my man I think you don't
I'm a suicidal revital, my title's homicidal
So many niggaz will die when I write my recital
They don't understand that I gotta plan for the klan
The area nation, white caucasian
I'm sick of all the bullshit I'd rather be dead
But first I better put a bullet in your head instead
They said that everything I said was a lie
But if you go and kill the fetus you cry
But the wicked shit will never die