1990 - Sick Lyrics - Singles - Spice 1

[Chorus] 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

'cause everybody dyin' on this mothafuckin' album 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Don't kick up in the dirt when I'm puttin' in work 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

Kill 'em all 

'cause everybody dyin' on this mothafuckin' album 

I murda like this (this) 

I murda like that (that) 

Pull an AK-47 up out my mothafuckin' gangsta hat 

Professional, Columbian, 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 10's with choppas 

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 Furhman 

Tear gas through my glass window pane 

They want to 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 mothafuckin' jack 

A straight mothafuckin' jack 

A straight mothafuckin' jack 

[Chorus] 

(Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

Nigga's to pull the lynch 

Yayo case and stick 

Marcia Clark screamin' out murda, jumpin' on Oj's 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 ain't changed much, hell 

I'm still smokin' four or five mothafuckin' choppas before it's twelve 

Muthafuckas think they know me, but they don't know 

I'm sellin' first class tickets to the murda show 

Don't want to rap about no nigga, let's 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, I'm 1990-sick 

[Chorus] 

Muh-uh-mobbin' up out the see you-uh-cut 

With a ready to pow one 

Nuh-uh-90 sick content of the album 

If there's a cure for this, don't cure me 

I'm comin' with the fury 

Playa hata's 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 rally's, no po-po come around here 

'cause it's a different time, different game, different year 

1990 sick 

[Chorus: x2] 

(Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

(1990-sick) 

(1990-sick)