Chorus:
Kill em all (x4)
Cuz everybody dyin on this muthafuckin album
Kill em all (x4)
Dont kick up in the dirt when Im puttin in work
Kill em all (x4)
Cuz everybody dyin on this muthafuckin album
I murda like this (this)
I murda like that (that)
Pull an ak-47 up out my muthafuckin gangsta hat
Professinal, columiban, necktiea, barbwire
Strangula, over killa, dead fuckin body hanga
Peepin out the window with an ak
Pullin up on these coppas
Helicoptas, squad cars, squat 10s with choppas
They tellin me "nigga, get the fuck out before ya die
If you surrender, well 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 furhman
Tear gas through my glass window pane
They wanna put me back up in the nut house again
But Im not goin back and take my prozac
They can keep the straight jacket
And leave a straight mutha fuckin jack
A straight mutha fuckin jack
A straight mutha fuckin jack
Chorus
(get the hell off my dick, Im 1990-sick)
(1990-sick) (x4)
Niggas to pull the lynch
Yayo case and stick
Marcia clark screamin out murda, jumpin on ojs dick
Muthafuckas still sufferin and healin
Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin fed buildin
Crazy niggas still bangin and slangin crack
To the death, when the game put em up on they back
Muthafuckas catchin names, from shootin high
And phony niggas still get sprayed up on the block
And I aint changed much, hell
Im still smokin four or five muthafuckin choppas before its twelve
Muthafuckas think they know me, but they dont know
Im sellin first class tickets to the murda show
Dont wanna rap about no nigga, lets get it on
Bustin domes, buck shots through your rib bone
So all you niggas up in the magazines talkin shit
Get off my dick, Im 1990-sick
Chorus
Muh-uh-mobbin up out the cu-uh-cut
With a ready to pow one
Nuh-uh-90 sick content of the album
If theres a cure for this, dont cure me
Im comin with the fury
Playa hatas 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 rallys, no po-po come around here
Cuz its a different time, different game, different year
1990 sick
Chorusx2
(get the hell off my dick, Im 1990-sick)
(1990-sick) (x4)
