siccmade lyrics – brotha lynch hung

[grisly voice]
yeah, the baby killa’s back up in this mothaf*cka…
straight from tha grave, it gets so deep right under the garden
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?
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 not like the rest, got one in a 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
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
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
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*,
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
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 me rip in bed full of nuts and guts and entrails sh*t
i guess they chewin’ on tha cl*t, the sick, they just don’t understand
so i vanished, 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…

/ brotha lynch hung lyrics