Spice 1 - 1990 - Sick lyrics

[Chorus] k** 'em all k** 'em all k** 'em all k** 'em all 'cause everybody dyin' on this mothaf**in' album k** 'em all k** 'em all k** 'em all k** 'em all Don't kick up in the dirt when I'm puttin' in work k** 'em all k** 'em all k** 'em all k** 'em all 'cause everybody dyin' on this mothaf**in' album I murda like this (this) I murda like that (that) Pull an AK-47 up out my mothaf**in' gangsta hat Professional, Columbian, necktiea, barbwire Strangula, over k**a, dead f**in' body hanga Peepin' out the window with an AK Pullin' up on these coppas Helicoptas, squad cars, squat 10's with choppas They tellin' me "n***a, get the f** out before ya die If you surrender, we'll make sure that you quickly fry" Should I kick open the door and go to war Or should I stick my throat Leave a pipe bomb and a f** you note Hallucinations of seein' lynched bodies burnin' And all the po-po had faces like Mark Furhman Tear gas through my gla** window pane They want to put me back up in the nut house again But I'm not goin' back and take my Prozac They can keep the straight jacket And leave a straight mothaf**in' jack A straight mothaf**in' jack A straight mothaf**in' jack [Chorus] (Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick) (1990-sick) (1990-sick) (1990-sick) (1990-sick) n***a's to pull the lynch Yayo case and stick Marcia Clark screamin' out murda, jumpin' on Oj's dick Muthaf**as still sufferin' and healin' Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the f**in' fed buildin' Crazy n***as still bangin' and slangin' crack To the d**h, when the game put 'em up on they back Muthaf**as catchin' names, from shootin' high And phony n***as still get sprayed up on the block And I ain't changed much, hell I'm still smokin' four or five mothaf**in' choppas before it's twelve Muthaf**as think they know me, but they don't know I'm sellin' first cla** tickets to the murda show Don't want to rap about no n***a, let's get it on bustin' domes, buck shots through your rib bone So all you n***as up in the magazines talkin' sh** Get off my dick, I'm 1990-sick [Chorus] Muh-uh-mobbin' up out the see you-uh-cut With a ready to pow one Nuh-uh-90 sick content of the album If there's a cure for this, don't cure me I'm comin' with the fury Playa hata's gettin' hung up like a jury So peep the game from an old school G you know so well The east bay gangsta, leaving caution tape and faces pale I bails on a full moon like the 12 o clock Neighborhood watch scared to look and see who on the block Just fed a rally's, no po-po come around here 'cause it's a different time, different game, different year 1990 sick [Chorus: x2] (Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick) (1990-sick) (1990-sick) (1990-sick) (1990-sick)