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Poetry in the Streets

Necro & Ill Bill
Popularity ยท Low
๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ง English ยท Original

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Lyrics

Poetry In The Streets Remix Brand new third verse Necro and ILL BILL! The press runs the tape record the bloody mess Documentation so the human race can study death They'll reach ya through your TV speaker They'll feature a creature that will beat you to death If he can meet ya You're executed when you're electrocuted Who's responsible for a homeless man that's dead and smells putrid We murdered your natural flesh after being thrown in a river Will be frozen forever into a statue of death A grasshopper in the lab dead, stabbed in the head Knives are like the hands of a crab Jabbing your flab till your bathroom and bled Throw you off a building, killing off your children Drilling holes in your corpse till your spilling the color vermillion We'll split your brains, I'll slit your vein The impact of a bat cracked across your back Is like getting hit by a train I'll stick a fang in your blood bank then strangle My shank will mangle you like the triangle teeth of a bengal I think my shit's too brutal for most I might be the only one capable of digesting a dose You won't survive a screwdriver driven inside your throat Choke on blood and saliva another Kuniva croak Remix! There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple And the vitality found in few other places But look beneath the surface of the city And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions Gone sour, a planet where nightmares Have become reality, witness the brutality There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple You get tackled and grappled to the floor While slave, dump and shackle I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth and shit on your face Grind you into sloppy and serve you to your friends We move with bad taste, another brutal shooting rampage Turning humans to ashtrays, groupies to crack slaves With boobies that lactate, squirting mad milk I never have guilt, I have krills I have you fags killed in front of your mom and dad's grill Splatter both of them with pieces of your exploded head Brain fragments are staining clothing red I make you love the pain, it hurts We make music for drug addicts, pieces of shit that love the dirt It's psychological, I'm like having a rifle shot at you We're not the type to smile at you, we're the type to body you Slit your throat with a broken bottle Pieces of jagged glass stabbing you through your fucking eyeballs Have you swallowing cyanide and screaming, "Die whores!" Watch it kill your physical first, next your mind's lost Leave you in a funeral home, you make a fine corpse Got you splattered across the walls where my nine talks Murder you execution style like a crime boss Travel through time and terminate you like a cyborg My mentality's grindcore There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple And the vitality found in few other places But look beneath the surface of the city And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions Gone sour, a planet where nightmares Have become reality, witness the brutality There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple You get tackled and grappled to the floor While slave, dump and shackle Rescue crews show care for the living, they'll stick with 'em But once death is claimed, paramedics show disregard for the victim You command respect when you're alive but once you die You're reduced to a bloody nuisance, a gruesome sight to the eye Driving a taxi's a dangerous career You might pick up the Grim Reaper The passenger all taxi drivers fear A robber might put a gun in your ear And end your life with the twitch of a finger, it happens all year You're going into respiratory arrest Firemen are pumping your chest and hope of restoring your breath No one's immune to dying, you disagree? You're lying to yourself, in time everything living's history There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple And the vitality found in few other places But look beneath the surface of the city And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions Gone sour, a planet where nightmares Have become reality, witness the brutality There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple You get tackled and grappled to the floor While slave, dump and shackle