Текст и слова песни Spice 1 – 1990 Sick (kill 'em All)
Featuring MC Eiht
Chorus:
Kill em all (4X)
Cause everybody dyin on this motherfuckin album
Kill em all (4X)
Don't kick up in the dirt when I'm puttin in work
Kill em all (4X)
Cause everybody dyin on this motherfuckin album
[Spice 1]
I murda like this (this) I murda like that (that)
Pull an AK 47 up out my motherfuckin gangsta hat
Professional Columiban Necktie barbwire
Strangula over killa, dead fuckin body hanga
Peepin out the window with an A.K., pullin up on these copper
Helicoptas, squad cars, swat teams with choppers
They tellin me, "Nigga, get the fuck 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 fuck you note
Hallucinations of seein lynched bodies burnin
And all the po-po had faces like Mark Fuhrman
Tear gas through my glass window pane
They wanna 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 motherfuckin jack
A straight motherfuckin jack
A straight motherfuckin jack
Chorus
(Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick)
(1990-sick) *repeat 4X*
[Spice 1]
Nigga's to pull the lynch, yayo case and stick
Marcia Clark screamin out murda, jumpin on OJ's dick
Motherfuckers still sufferin and healin
Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin fed buildin
Crazy niggaz still bangin and slangin crack
To the death, when the game put em up on they back
Motherfuckers catchin AIDS, from shootin hop
And phony niggaz still get sprayed up on the block
And I ain't changed much, hell
I'm still smokin four or five motherfuckin choppers before it's twelve
Motherfuckers think they know me, but they don't know
I'm sellin first class tickets to the murda show
Don't wanna rap about no nigga, let's get it on
Bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone
So all you niggaz up in the magazines talkin shit
Get off my dick, I'm 1990-sick
Chorus
[MC Eiht]
1990-sick, I grasp my dick
The lunatic quick to grab my tech
Put slugs up in your neck
Compton is the city where I come from
Desert Eagle packin dum ditty ditty dum
I won't just smoke you
I be terrifyin horrifyin gyeah I'ma choke you
The killa niggaz on hop
We tear up your spot, Eiht, Spice, and my fuckin nigga Pac
Don't cross my path, no class
I be like shit in your motherfuckin ass
Chorus:
Kill em all (4X)
Cause everybody dyin on this motherfuckin album
Kill em all (4X)
Don't kick up in the dirt when I'm puttin in work
Kill em all (4X)
Cause everybody dyin on this motherfuckin album
[Spice 1]
I murda like this (this) I murda like that (that)
Pull an AK 47 up out my motherfuckin gangsta hat
Professional Columiban Necktie barbwire
Strangula over killa, dead fuckin body hanga
Peepin out the window with an A.K., pullin up on these copper
Helicoptas, squad cars, swat teams with choppers
They tellin me, "Nigga, get the fuck 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 fuck you note
Hallucinations of seein lynched bodies burnin
And all the po-po had faces like Mark Fuhrman
Tear gas through my glass window pane
They wanna 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 motherfuckin jack
A straight motherfuckin jack
A straight motherfuckin jack
Chorus
(Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick)
(1990-sick) *repeat 4X*
[Spice 1]
Nigga's to pull the lynch, yayo case and stick
Marcia Clark screamin out murda, jumpin on OJ's dick
Motherfuckers still sufferin and healin
Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin fed buildin
Crazy niggaz still bangin and slangin crack
To the death, when the game put em up on they back
Motherfuckers catchin AIDS, from shootin hop
And phony niggaz still get sprayed up on the block
And I ain't changed much, hell
I'm still smokin four or five motherfuckin choppers before it's twelve
Motherfuckers think they know me, but they don't know
I'm sellin first class tickets to the murda show
Don't wanna rap about no nigga, let's get it on
Bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone
So all you niggaz up in the magazines talkin shit
Get off my dick, I'm 1990-sick
Chorus
[MC Eiht]
1990-sick, I grasp my dick
The lunatic quick to grab my tech
Put slugs up in your neck
Compton is the city where I come from
Desert Eagle packin dum ditty ditty dum
I won't just smoke you
I be terrifyin horrifyin gyeah I'ma choke you
The killa niggaz on hop
We tear up your spot, Eiht, Spice, and my fuckin nigga Pac
Don't cross my path, no class
I be like shit in your motherfuckin ass
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