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INTRO (Charles Manson):
The parole boards a bunch of stupid bureaucrats men, who are laying up on the dollar bill: Take that poison and and and die in that cell; or say youre full of s**t and well let you go. You know?! So the parole board wants me to go in and count down to their reality and say that their reality is the real reality and my reality is really the stuoid, dumb reality.
VERSE 1:
Cut through youre flesh
With sharp knives
Blast you to death
Laugh in Youre face; Im as trife
As it gets
When I said it, leave you to pass
Like archives
Forget it, you better walk that stat
When the berretta sparks, click clack
Get back
More pieces of youre grill
Will be shot off; kid I keep it ill
Death rap mastery
In crib bumpin
Battery thumpin
With anyone that has it in for me
Dump a clip o dum-dums in a dummy
Then dump him in the dumpster
I talk so much crazy s**t
Theres a chance
You just might not believe me until I punch you
In youre fkin face kid
Face it
Ima have to demonstrate s**t
Some demented hate s**t
Then some young impressionable kidll watch me and emulate it
The cycle o psychos never ends
Malevolence
Continues
Through venues
Ever since I got banned from knitting factory on wetlands
CHORUS:
Hustle Like a sicko
Cause I got money comin to me
Theres enough of it out there for Necro to sn*tch 50 Mill
I wont stop til I have it
Cause Im ambitious
And maliciously vicious
Enough to kill
Anyone in my way better move
We came from nothing
And now our foundation is strong
I will rep my own s**t
fk what you do
You cant do what I do
Gores of original so its on
VERSE 2:
Jabbin you
Or stabbin you up
Pick one
Grabbin you up
Quick son
Snuffed up
Bucked up
You a fkin victim
Necro be the representative of Brooklyn, New York: thats where I live
Gats to your rib
Robbin you blindly
Find me
Back in the crib
Chillin iller with a b*tch
Thats willin and able to strip
On the table for a villain with a goal
Im makin a million before 30 years old
I keep s**t real when I step
If my reputations at stake
No hesitation
When I break faces
Whippin out
Razors
Flippin out
Logical psycho Necro
Astronomical sicko
The last of a dying breed
Im the master
Of sick b*stards
Im indeed
Pump this loud til youre eardrums burst
My verse
Comforts you like techno
And beef when ten cats step
And they get mirked
CHORUS