rage I get pissed, like a pitbull in a cage (*barking*) Not that many can deal with the fury Attack and ransack and kill in a hurry I kill and observe
the scene Three crazy, gun-totin' niggas smokin' weed Talkin' about life on records was the whole plan So we put out The Phuncky Feel, (?) and Kill A Man (KILL
use it to kill your show yo Off to the stone garden you go and stay there When I'm dead I'm bringing my music to play there For all the soldiers, moneyfolders
Bone:] Come, come get some of this Midwest murda music, murda music, murda music Come, come get some of this Midwest murda music, murda music, murda music
[Intro:] This is a national security alert. Ground music. Flipmode. Aftermath. [Verse 1:] Here we go! Back with the most venomous rap I be the god father
to walk like the illest soldier, And when I smoke, only roll up with the illest doja You sit and mull it over my venom a killer cobra, It's Harlem USA
you I be the all seeing lyrical, hammerhead sharp peripheral With 360 degree visual When the signal was given, MCs get biten with venom From a poisonous algorithm liable to kill
hard to be looked at as lousy I stand unamused, only music can arouse me Lyrics sparks songs I' m nice with em Mr. Hi I'm Him can really write venom I
in They all wanna murder me, bitches So now they plot on my riches, finally they heard of me Blast these trick niggaz, fakin' jacks on the body Killed
music's dead, and y'all just scared {scratched: "I'm Killer Mike, I'm Killer Mike, I'm Killer Mike, I'm Killer Mike"} Rap is dead, rock is dead My music
invented em When the system Scrooged just like Lil Tim and em Will bless the child who manuevers the censors, then Spitting venom, have them same dudes interested in him My visions unlimited, music
a fine time for me to be tryin to explain what's goin on inside my mind nigga I don't see no other kind of solution to let this problems loose Therepidic for music
[Music by Andy LaRocque] A little later in the day Mother and the Doctor went away They left me lying on the floor Heading for local church, no a trace
[Music by D.Mustaine/D.Ellefson, lyrics by D.Mustaine] You take great pride in never having lived up to anything Lie, steal, cheat, and kill, a real
caught in webs spin and hauk venom Adrenaline shots of penicillin could not get the illing to stop. Amoxacilin is just not real enough. The criminal cop killing