Peep the killer shit, death murder rap shit
Bitch, check it
The press runs to tape record the bloody mess
Documentation so the human race can study death
They’ll reach in through your TV speaker
They’ll feature a creature that would beat ya to death if he could meet ya
You’re executed when you’re electrocuted
Who’s responsible for a homeless man that’s dead and smells putrid?
We murdered your natural flesh after being thrown in a river
You’ll be frozen forever into a statue of death
A grasshopper in the lab, dead, stabbed in the head
Knives are like the hands of a crab
Jabbin’ your flab ‘til your abdomen bled
Throw you off a building, killin’ off your children
Drillin’ holes in your corpse until you’re spillin’ the color vermilion
We’ll split your brains, I’ll slit your veins
The impact of a bat cracked across your back is like gettin’ hit by a train
I’ll stick a fang in your blood bank, then strangle my shangle
Mangle you like the triangle teeth of a bengal
I think my shit’s too brutal for most
I might be the only one capable of digesting the dose
You won’t survive a screwdriver driven inside your throat
Choke on blood and saliva, another conniver croaks
It’s poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
And a vitality found in few other places
But look beneath the surface of the city
And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions
Gone sour, a planet where nightmares have become reality, witness the brutality
There’s poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
You get tackled and grappled to the floor, white-slaved up and shackled
I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth, and shit on your face
Grind you into slop meat and serve you to your friends
We bringin’ bad taste, another brutal shooting rampage
Turning humans to ashtrays, groupies to crack slaves, with boobies that lactate
Squirtin’ mad milk, I never have guilt
I have krills, I’ll have you fags killed
In front of your mom and dad’s grill
Splatter both of them with pieces of your exploded head
Brain fragments that stain their clothing red
I make you love the pain, it hurts
We make music for drug addict pieces of shit that love the dirt
It’s psychological, I’m like havin’ a rifle shot at you
We not the type to smile at you, we the type to body you
Slit your throat with a broken bottle
Pieces of jagged glass stabbing you through your fuckin’ eyeballs
Have you swallowin’ cyanide and screaming, “Die, whores!”
Watch me kill your physical first, next your mind’s lost
Leave you in the funeral home, you make a fine corpse
Got you splattered across the walls when my nine talks
Murder you execution style like a crime boss
Travel through time and terminate you like a cyborg
My mentality’s grindcore
It’s poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
And a vitality found in few other places
But look beneath the surface of the city
And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions
Gone sour, a planet where nightmares have become reality, witness the brutality
There’s poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
You get tackled and grappled to the floor, white-slaved up and shackled