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• Artiste: Spice 1
• Titre: 1990-sick (Kill 'em All) (outro)
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[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)