Yeah, the Baby k**a's back up in this mothaf**a...
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 mothaf**a...
So peep the mothaf**in' 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***as n***as with a suflet a la gun
Mothaf**as get hung, my bullet weights a ton
The Garden Blocc Don, the valley of the slum
Tha cannibalistic n***a that got that 9 millimeter gun
That n***a that n***a that got them mothaf**as on the run
They thought that I was done but Lynch is not the one
To go out from a gunshot wound, n***a, I'm not done that soon
b**hes, they come but nut like the rest, caught one in the chest
Shoulda wear a vest and, oh, what a bloody mess
Puffin' off the cess, dealin' with the stress, k**in' off the less...
Fortunate but they trip when my nine gets sick
Them n***as either die or stays back off my dick
Cause I'm that n***a they call Lynch, I got'em n***as fiendin' for my
sh**
I empty clips, drinkin', f**in' with tha splift
And it's the n***a that k** for reason, it's the Season Of The Sicc
That's why I got the urge to shoot that p**y clit
And k** that infint, so what is my intent?
To show mothaf**as that livin' life ain't sh**
I guess it gets real sick and eatin' bloody clit, the baby k**a sh**
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** devil in his mouth and eat the sh** out of his b**h
And I admit: my brain is kinda sick
But now I'm like J. Dahmer, I'm chewin' up all the evidence
I k**ed to cure my fit, the human meat fix
Bitin' to the skin rips, that sick n***a, 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 dick that who*e...
All ya do is walkin' with ya baby's mama and she's s**in' ya sons
Dick...
That's the mothaf**in' Siccness...
So, ya mothaf**as don't ya forget that sh**...
And don't forget where the Sicc came from...
That n***a Lynch...
(Brotha Lynch Hung)
I take my mouth off up that cog and trip
Cause eatin' dead p**y clit I make ya sick
But it's the Season so my reason is legit
I'm havin' fits, I dreamed of eatin' bloody p**y clit's since I was
Six
I fiend for a dead p**y on dick, I gotta skits
Meanin' I don't give a sh** about ya biyatch
That n***a that's from tha Blocc, k**in' up tha cog, so, n***a,
Shii-it
Baby barbeque ribs and guts and, ah, don't let me get too deep
Fryin' baby nuts, s*uts get ate out alike, dank is what crooked teeth
Heard
I pull the Tampax-string out and straight put in work
And puttin' work without that sick, so page a n***a quick
So I can sell ya some of this sh** and have ya murderin' ya biyatch
Cause me and Tripple-Six grew up f**in' b**hes up the gut
With tha 9-millimater clip, Season Of The Sicc, picture this:
p**y meat ripped in pan full of nuts and guts and entrails sh**
I guess they chewin' on tha clit, the sick, they just don't understand
It
It's so outlandish, chewin' n***a nuts to cure my fit
The human meat fix, bitin' to the skin rips, that sick n***a, so sick
Livin' dead ever since