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    The ghettos of America are breeding grounds
    For the criminal minded
    As for years they have killed one another of
    And America has enjoyed its creation
    But now these ghetto-minded criminals
    Have crossed the line into your neighborhood
    And will soon give you a taste of the hell
    That they have lived for so long
    So pops, this time its your son gets shot
    Deal with your own creation
    Well, I've been to the storm house and then some
    Payed me dues but I'm still a street hoodlum
    Dropped out of school cuz I couldn't find my locker
    Stubbles on my chin, I got hair like Chewbacca
    Might see me sleeping on the street
    Don't look for a job cuz there's no jobs looking for me
    Then it all went to my head
    Next, forty-nine motherfuckers dead
    Tell the pigs I did it
    Place spot at your back
    And beat you in the head with it
    And keep your bitch in place
    Or I'm a send her ass home with a foot print on her face
    Uh, I'm hating sluts
    Shoot them in the face, steb back and itch my nuts
    'Less I'm in the sac
    Cuz I fuck so hard it'll break they back
    All the pressure's packed into one nut
    I was waiting on a bus and my head blew up
    And the sight'll make ya sick
    Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic


    Thought you know bitch
    The ICP is made up of psychotic
    Demented psycho clumsy motherfuckers
    And we'll put a hook on your bumb leg
    Like it ain't nobody's business

    So I'm standing by the train tracks
    Then you see me running but naked with a battle axe
    I'm swinging and slicing and chopping and cutting and..
    Aah, until I'm nothing
    Seems like I always get beat down
    Like the hawk turned to the wicked clown
    Tail turned out to the ghetto cuz
    Southwest Detriot is comended one's home
    So you might see me at a festival
    Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicles
    With a cold two-liter in hand
    Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand
    Take it to the Patent Park
    Then I'll make a sexist remark
    Cuz they're all eventually bitching
    Serve me fucking take your ass to the kitchen
    Police don't like me it's obvious
    Just don't look in the trunk
    Or the sight'll make you sick
    Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic

    [theme from "Halloween"]

    Yeah, I've always been a psycho
    I'll throw rocks at stray dogs
    Build crackhouses out of Lincoln logs
    I cut class, said I was a faker
    You was in school, I was home watching Green Acres
    Now I'm all up in your face
    You can barely hear the rap with all that bass
    I'm running with a southwest street gang
    And I never let my southwest meat hang
    Cuz you know what ICP's all about
    Take a brick off the street
    And bust you in the mouth
    Find the girl's daddy's rich
    And his sweet little angel's my sewer freak bitch
    But I filled the turkey up with the stuffing
    Like Billy Bill say, "a bitch ain't nothing"
    Grab her by the arm and break
    Grab her by the life and take it
    And, ya know, the sight'll make ya sick
    Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic


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