Mind of a Sick n*gga lyrics

Artist: Spice 1
Album: 1990-Sick
Song: Mind of a Sick n*gga

(Theyre all gonna laugh at you)
(Theyre all gonna laugh at you)
(Hahahahahaha)
(Theyre all gonna laugh at you)

Enter the mind of a sick n*gga
With bloody uzi clips
Decapitated heads in baskets
Closed caskets. Murda on wax
n*gga, thats what its all about
Thats what you bought the muthaf*ckin tape for
Murda on wax
Redrum. On wax
n*gga, I said, redrum, on wax

Gotta get my prozac fore I go back
And murda these muthaf*ckas
Jumpin up out yo bushes in front a yo house with a tech nine
Leavin in yo spine a flurry a bullets
Its that killa S-P-I-C-E
A lot a these jealous muthaf*ckas they wanna murda me
But they can't f*ck with that giggedy-giggedy-gangsta
The n*gga thats leavin they muthaf*ckin body parts in dumpstas
Budda-bye-bye-bye feel them blood clot rastas
The n*ggas who be out there slippin catch some buckshots to them head
Pullin up four deep in an old school caddy
Fully auto-maddy
Empty the clip, n*ggas like paddy
In the alley, n*ggas domes they cap
Pistol whippin muthaf*ckas, got some blood on my strap
(Chorus)

What goes on in the mind of a sick n*gga?
Them bloody bodies, face down in the dirty river
What goes on in the mind of a sick n*gga?
Redrum, professinal gravedigga
What goes on in the mind of a sick n*gga?
Them bloody bodies, face down in them dirty river
What goes on in the mind of a sick n*gga?
187, professinal gravedigga

Im bailin up out the cut and n*ggas they dont know what the f*ck happened
Im laughin and blastin, rippin asses in half an
Street sweepin these n*ggas up under the rug
Plug they ass, makin they hooptie blow up when they crash
Zonin out that hash
Face down, back open, hopin they ain't no snitches scopin
Witnesses witness they own smokin
See it ain't no joke and nothing funny
Bustin caps in yo ass like Yosemite Sam and Bugs Bunny
They all see my comin and then they fled
Im shootin these n*ggas off in the backa they head
Blowin off they legs
Talkin sh*t while they dyin
f*ckin off they high an
Hollow points keepin these n*ggas cold bodies fryin
I ain't no stranger to this killin sh*t
You shoulda thought before you f*cked with this n*gga you was dealin with
You see I mobs through the ghetto smokin hash blunts
Stalkin game in the streets I grew up in
And when the sh*t get funky I just get on up
And blow your head off with a muthaf*ckin mac 10, b*tch
Chorus

Youll be outta this muthaf*cka like Ron Goldman, chopped the f*ck up
Ain't no n*gga livin alive that survived
And had me caught up in some bullsh*t
Now who you tryin to f*ck up in the hustle
This 20 gaugell ripple your ass up like a can a Ruffles
Im tryin to bubble like Johnson and Johnson
With one in the chamber up an I load this strap with a 45 Thompson
And we gon see if all that sh*t is true
Comin up out the bay, guaranteed to be 187 proof
You see my bustin with one hand up on my nutsac
Departin domes yellin out whos the muthaf*ckin mac
Its that red infa, n*gga with a hot temper
I got your funeral date set up for next September
You gon be deader than livin presidents
Cuz in a couple a secs your soul gon be checkin up outta its residence
Bodies stiff like Christmas ornaments
Because the n*ggas that a f*ck with me bein mo funk than Parliment

Chorus

You see I mobs through the ghetto smokin hash blunts
Stalkin game in the streets I grew up in
And when the sh*t get funky I just get on up
And blow your head off with a muthaf*ckin mac 10, b*tch
Chorus

(n*gga, what you thinkin bout?)