You're bored You're bored I hate the look on your face when you're bored You're bored You're bored I hate the look on your face when you're bored You
t got nothing going in the USA His tight pants and his eyeliner will surely blow you away He always kills the night in the same way night kills the day
upon the scene Three crazy, gun-totin' niggas smokin' weed Talkin' about life on records was the whole plan So we put out The Phuncky Feel, and Kill A Man (KILL
scene Three crazy, gun-totin' niggas smokin' weed Talkin' about life on records was the whole plan So we put out the phuncky feel, but you were feelin' guilty and kill
clock is ill when, faced wit the truth Parallels observing, amateur video tapes of Twenty-one top notch NYPD cops get ill Fill they minds not to kill
six-hundred and sixty-six megahertz Make lightnin' flash across the sky every time I curse Six-hundred and sixty-six flashes Give out six-hundred and sixty-six
electric chair; He was a bad man That mean old Stagolee. Twelve o'clock they killed him Head reached up high Last thing that poor boy said, "My six
de Lyons, You going to die in the electric chair; He was a bad man That mean old Stagolee. Twelve o'clock they killed him Head reached up high Last
At the vanguard of a juddering caravan, hurriedly galloping down a dirt-track. Six furtive figures, crooked as Caliban; Smuggling hope to the land of
through the flesh the undead flesh enlightens me zombie executioner I kill with fervor lust and despise tearing up flesh killing dead bodies bleeding
sat alone with my six strings And I learned how to play and sing Woody Guthrie's guitar killed fascists and crime But in Hastings, East Sussex, South of England My guitar killed
said, "I'm inventing the Chevrolet" He said, "I've already built twenty-five models One for each letter from A to Z" I said, "Henry, you fool, there are twenty-six
Automatics from seven chambers eighty-two bullets When you pull it, the little twenty five sound like Ganas Machine guns, electric cords rob the power
me son I ain't trying to get back it'd be my third felony Pataki he want to see us, criminals fry In the electric chair, but my spirit will never die
, "I'm inventing the Chevrolet." He said, "I've already built twenty-five models, One for each letter from A to Z." I said, "Henry, you fool, there are twenty-six
Non-Phixion be the real hip hop We make you wanna kill cops Cats hatin, 'cause they know I finga girls twats You feel helpless, real jealous, we killed
? You win all my money, lord! You spit in my stetson hat" Staggolee were walking In the red hot brawling sun, Says: ?bring me my six-shooter, Lord i
bumbling Like a bird that?s just had it?s wings clipped?in flight And the congregation of the prayers begins to sing They were such delinquents joining the kill
