Siccmade

Grisly voice
Yeah, the Baby Killa's back up in this motherfka...
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 motherfka...
So peep the mothafkin' words from the dead man, yeah...

Brotha Lynch Hung
And when I pack me a gun and, oh, when I was young
I dreamt of feedin them up of nuts and soufley a' la dun
Motherfkas get hung, my bullet weights a ton
The Garden Blocc Don, the valley of the slum
Tha cannibalistic nigg* that got that 9 millimeter gun
That nigg* that nigg* that got them mothafkas on the run
They thought that I was done but Lynch is not the one
To go out from a gunshot wound, nigg*, I'm not done that soon
girls, they come but nut just like the rest, caught one in the chest
Shoulda wore a vest and, oh, what a blood mess
Puffin' off the cess, dealin' with the stress, killin' off the less...
Fortunate but they trip when my nine gets sick
Them either die or stay stuck on my d*ck
Cause I'm that nigg* they call Lynch, I got'em fiendin' for my s**t
I empty clips, drinkin', fkin' with tha splift
And it's the nigg* 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 off that infant, so what is my intent?
To show them mothafkas livin' life ain't s**t
I gets to gettin' real sick and eatin' blood cl*t, the baby killa s**t
Put 'em in a grave with an empty 40 ounce bottle and don't leave a drip
Cause livin' with tha Tripple-Six
Ya learn to fk devil in his mouth and eat the s**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 nigg*, so sick
Livin' dead ever since...

Grisly voice
Yeah, do ya wanna know what that Siccness is?
The Siccness is when you hug your mama and ya d*ck get hard
Or you walk in on your baby's mama and she's suckin' your son's d*ck
That's the mothafkin' Siccness...
So, ya mothafkas don't ya forget that s**t...
And don't forget where the Sicc came from...
That nigg* 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' blood 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 s**t about ya biyatch
That nigg* that's from tha Blocc, killin' up tha cog, so, nigg*, shii-it
Baby barbeque ribs and guts and, ah, don't let me get too deep
Fryin' baby nuts, gals get ate out alike, dank is what crooked teeth heard
I pull the Tampax-string out and straight put in work
It wouldn't work without that sick, so page a nigg* quick
So I can serve ya some of this s**t and have ya murderin' ya biyatch
Cause me and Triple-Six grew up fkin' girls up the gut
With tha 9-millimeter clip, Season of the Sicc, picture this:
p*ssy meat ripped in a pan full of nuts and guts and intestines and s**t
I gets ta chewin' on tha cl*t, the sick, they just don't understand it
It's so outlandish, chewin' nigg* nuts to cure my fit
The human meat fix, bitin' 'til the skin rips, that sick nigg*, so sick
Livin' dead ever since...