WKCR 89.9 Freestyle lyrics

Sounds good

All right

So Anna’s gonna be on the wheels for the open mic

We got my man Necro in the place to be, what’s up?

Yo, what’s the deal, Bob?

Everything is cool, Necro

We got Psychological Records up in here, slime buckets

Mr. Hyde’s in your grills, too

Y’all fuckin’ bitches out there

Necro’s ready to lace you

All y’all goons out there, at home

Be careful

Dirtbags and slime buckets

Necro

We got Brooklyn up in here, baby, BK

Necro

You all die

I’m not gonna joke around, I know you’re here for business

What’s the deal?

Just stay about six inches away from the microphone

All right, no doubt

Check it, yo, you know this beat’s brutal

Drop that shit, Necro

We ain’t come to play games, I’m extremely blunt

Shut this shit off if you’re a squeamish cunt

That can’t handle seeing the front of a head blown off for being dumb

Stop the pushing, pulling, and screaming

Death is ugly ‘cause you fear it, it’s beautiful to demons

So what? You bust chrome

Take away your skin, you’re just bones

Get your guts blown out your stomach ‘til pus foams

Now you’re an unkown, better run home

Your spine stabbed from behind

Your physical destroyed like a mortician’s mind

Crucifix you when I shoot the pistol and blow off your fucking head

All your body parts are superficial, useless tissue

You’ll get beat with fists ‘til blood’s runnin’ down the concrete like piss

My drug medicates, leave you dead and stiff like that bitch with a head of snakes

My butchering is flavor like Little Debbie cakes

I’ll drop an excellent beat then burn it up like Mexican heat, like dissection of meat

I’ll cut the track to pieces, it’s all about making G’s

So, yo, please, if I could I would sell crack to Jesus

The world is death, blood, sodomy, war

The world is death, blood, sodomy, more

The monster of gore, entrepreneur, constantly raw

Watch every riddle unfold, life is short and you have little control

Once your kidney is old and your flesh is brittle and cold

You’ll find yourself in the middle of an old folks’ home, sitting alone, die

I ain’t playing, check it

For all my goons all over the world

International, irrational, I’m bashin’ you, give me the cash, duke

Yo, you’re a clown with bruised-up ribs, bound and abducted, kill ‘em

Letting a fuck live’s counterproductive

You’ll be found in the ground with cut tits, drowned in a bucket of piss

Actin’ like you’re down with ruckus when you sound like you suck dick

I have an obligation to massacre you like a hobgoblin

Chasing you, slashing you, guess what hydrochloric acid can do

Through observation, it looks like the blob erasing your face

A convenient casket for you, one of my songs will ruin your life

I’m committing the wrongdoing, splitting you in two with a knife

I’m the intuitive type, I guess you wish you could live

But your death is a lucrative plight

The criteria for slaughtering is my Siberia, frigid rap like a Nigerian spitting caps

Superior with an ax, the tourniquet’s wrapping your skull cap

Like a fitted hat ‘til it cracks, ‘til it fucking cracks

Necro

Scumbags, Psychologic Records

Psychological Records, because it’s logical to be a psycho

Get killed

Check this out, just gettin’ warmed up

We gonna do it like this, check it, check it, check it, check it

Drop

Yo, brutal, hospital scalpel-packing, I’ll flip you

Twenty-four-inch machete on my hip ready to rip you

Whip out the blade swinging, chopping, dropping Satanic doctrine

My brain’s dusted like Hofmann, a Glock Ten to your spine

Sadistic sicko, linguistic schizo, when you’re rocking this I insist you sniff blow

Or die slow, juxing the track like I’m cooking some crack

Looking to smack you in the face if you’re wack

It’s a Brooklyn attack, packing an ax, relax

My clique’s a whole batch of cats with gats, acrobats that clap

So shut up, bitch, my boxcutter slits open your lips

You’ll get yoked ‘til you choke on your spit

You sluts got no nuts, get off my putz, or you’ll be coughing up guts

A walking corpse with a crutch for talking too much

The sick fuck, my clique’s evil, sick people, your shit’s feeble, give up

The beat, I hear the beat screwing up, definitely, the beat is chopped

That record is a chopped beat, but it’s all good, though

It’s all good, though, ‘cause Necro makes up

We drop one more verse, we can do this porn

I need a delicate bitch, a bitch with a great set of tits

Give her some sedatives, my game’s negative on proper etiquette

I like a woman that’s down to sell her clit

A bitch who’s inherited the skill in givin’ head to a dick

You’re a fucking cocksucking Confederate, you’re down to suck John Merrick’s dick

You’ve got a pair of generic tits and you use them to your benefit

You’re a slut and that’s the end of it

Fucking cunts, what you think, I got bitches, check it

You’re dead as a queer, you bled out the rear

I’m walking through the ghetto with Ricky Martin’s head on a spear

Repping, I only fuck with naked bare hoes

In my world, women don’t wear clothes, or they get crucified like scarecrows

Force me to kill, you’ll get murdered because of your grill

You’ll get strangled with your pants, mangle you with my hands

Rip off your ears, poke out your eyes, bite off your nose, you’re about to die

Your sight is gross like a transvestite exposed

I’ll clap your mind, writing raps on your spine, let’s practice crime

You’ll get raped by dirty dicks, your dirty tits get split

Until they drip pus and you’re one pretty murdered bitch

You never heard me spit? I’ll spit in your face then suffocate you

I love to hate you, wait, duke

I’m baggin’ skins, got nothing but arrogance

For you mannequins made out of ceramic and limbs

I’ll slay you, wrap guitar strings around your fucking neck, that’s how I play you

The beat cut up again, it keeps doin’ it

But you’ll die for that, check it

Cut the circulation, bloody perspiration, study the earth’s creation

Leave you shaking when I disperse my hate through verse perverse verbatim

Check it, Hyde, rip it

Your spine is caught on my blade, now you got cancer

Cut your time short like the lifepsan of a hamster

Dance on you with cleats, hole spikes underneath

It’s duck hunting season and your crew’s looking like geese

Even though the feds listen, I make the red glisten

You sit in bedridden, one-fourth your head missing

Provoke the porcupine, your face is holding pins

Be an Art Garfunkel, ram and rape the Olsen twins

Stared at your clique, think they’re daring and shit

Trying to play gorilla with no hair on your dick

Run up on you while you’re sexing, hang you with condoms

Givin’ suicide, feel like angry Ugandans

Queens hitman charging three G’s a kill

Fill my mark’s arm with heroin like C.C. Deville

Poison in your veins, all my boys are skilled to maim

Rip out the hearts of men if you’re singing like The Cardigans

Ain’t no bargaining, fuck, the deal’s closed

Bust you like a poacher nigga, break a baby seal’s nose

Check it out

You hoes

Check it out, Necro, “Most Sadistic” in stores, comin’ soon, this week

You go pick it up

Can’t fuck with it

I know goons is pickin’ it up

You know how I rep it, rappin’, producin’, directing, pimping

All you cats, Psychological Records, year 2000, taking this big like No Limit

Goons support, you know what I’m sayin’?

Buy the record and pick up the Ill Bill

Ill Bill, “How to Kill a Cop / Gangsta Rap”

I got goons comin’ out, Goretex solo, son

What? Al-Tariq, “Feel This Shit” comin’ out on my label

We got joints, and look out for Necro, “I Need Drugs”

Got the “I Need Drugs” video in stores

If you smoke crack in your house

Yo, if you like the “I Need Drugs” song, you better go see the video, you slut

I shot it in a crack hotel, I got two crackheads shooting up, it’s ill

Don’t sleep, ‘cause you’ll die

Fucking get killed

All right, I want to say one thing, one thing alone

I want to say peace to Uncle Howie

Shout out to Uncle Howie, Uncle Howie ain’t come to the two Seders that my mother had

He’s strung out

‘Cause, everybody, I’m Jewish and we had the Seders tonight

And Howie, he didn’t show up, Howie, I’m disappointed in you

He’s in the streets, Howie’s in the streets runnin’ around with needles

Even Mr. Hyde came, and I ain’t Jewish, I’m Italian, I ate fuckin’ Jewish meatballs

Yo, right now, Bobbito, Howie is probably somewhere in Coney Island projects right now

Gettin’ ripped, gettin’ ripped with hookers, chillin’ with hookers

Picking up lint on the floor

Let me say one other thing

What’s the deal?

I just wanna say, as a disclaimer, the views of yourself and Mr. Hyde

Do not necessarily reflect those of WKCR or of the radio program

Say word

Just so cats know, Bobbito dropped that same line in 1994

When I came up here and kicked violence and gay bashing

Just so you know, talkin’ six years later we up in here

Faggots are cool but stay away from us

That’s how me and Bob go way back, talkin’ six years, baby, ninety-gore

Saying that, saying that, Necro, I want to say peace, and I always say peace to everybody

No doubt, peace, I feel that

Thank you for coming through

And I want to say to the utmost, my man Ill Bill and Reverend Goretex and Sabac

Will be up here I believe, May, May 18th or May 25th

“Black Helicopters,” I produced “Black Helicopters,” go pick it up

I did the new Missin’ Linx, chill, chill, Missin’ Linx

I did the Missin’ Linx, “What It Is,” side A, you like that joint, Bob?

And look out for the Necro t-shirt line

Necro t-shirts, I got three new t-shirts comin’ out, pick it up

We got t-shirts, we got CDs, I’ma have cats slingin’ for me all over the world

Okay, great

All over the world, and I ain’t goin’ to jail, I ain’t goin’ to jail