Lyrics

[Intro] Brand New For 2003 That Murderous Shit [Chorus] Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill [Verse 1] I'm a basket case, I'm sure your path is demented All this anger inside needs to be vented Hey, yo don't be offended, when I slashin' ya face I'm doin' you a favor punk you off to a better place A nutcase with a taste for torture A bloody butcher knife is in my hand ready to slaughter I oughta get treatment for my sick mind I saw my therapist Dr. Doom and he said I'm fine But I'm about to watch you suffer kid Strap you in a chair and put toothpicks in ya eyelids Prying them open till you can't sleep for weeks In ya own fecal matter, is all you can eat And then for a treat, I might slice ya neck Or maybe stab ya chest you'll be beggin' for death yes When I write lyrics I don't need a pen or a pad I just grab a knife and start to stab And on my wall in drippin' blood I write my rhymes I got eyeballs hangin' on my porch like wind chimes And if you think that's sick, just open my fridge I got two heads, a torso, and a couple limbs In my trash bin I fill to the rims With bloody guts, what the fuck, life is pretty grim Severed heads scattered all over my lawn like a cabbage patch I grab a axe, I kick ya nuts like a hackey sack And that's a fact, I got the innovation that you lack A wacky jack in a crappy act, singin' happy raps But if it's sinister then that's a different story Fuck keep it real man, I'd rather keep it real gory [Chorus] Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill [Verse 2] Don't try to understand the sick talk I'm runnin' down the street with dead babies on a pitchfork A bitch talk I don't hesitate to stab her Then I'll grab her, put her in the trunk of an Impala Then I take her out, I drag her in the house The funs about to begin I take my tools out Now, I put the knife inside her gently drag it down her tummy Surprise surprise this ones an expecting mommy I remove the fetus and I put it in a jar Pull out some vital organ like the spleen and a heart I rap it up and put it in a bag so I can take It to work tomorrow eat it on my lunch break This is great and the fun is just startin' I rap intestines, all around my apartment like garland Look down at the hollow corpse a pretty sight Kiss her on the cheek now its time to say goodnight Now who's that sleepin' in my bed It's a dead body wit no head Skin is turning gray, starting to decay Smellin' really bad, but I like it that way Get under the covers, hug her 'cause I love her First thing in the morning I guess I'll dispose of her Click on the TV before I go to sleep The news says two kids have been missing for weeks If they only knew one was dead floating down the creek And the other one is in my torture chamber as we speak I'm unique and I'm sick abstract in the thoughts in my head I'm crazy I wanna see you dead, wanna [Chorus] Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill I'm Q-Strange, they say I'm quite ill