One For The Butcher Knife Lyrics - Non Phixion

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[Chorus 2x]
You can't kill me cause I'm already dead
One for the butcher knife, two for the glock

[Verse 1 - Necro]
Peep my little friend his name is M-16
I got the butcher knife to cut ya xxxxxx heart out for kicks
I'm on a killin spree like a nigger named Manson
Right around your grave kid is where I'll be dancin
The cha cha, you try to flex and I shot ya
Ten to the head
And now your motherfuckin brain dead
Mad Mooney means mad clips
I got more rubber in my glock that atraficial hips
So now your dead kid cause you xxxxxx bled kid
Every time I shot you in your motherfuckin head kid
When you call my sucidal phone line
I'll tell you to blow your xxxxxx brains out wit a 45
Blowin off ya head is somethin I provoke
So light an M-80 and shove it down your xxxxxx throat
The rougher, the tougher, I'm the mesiah
My rhymes are thicker than the afro of Richard Pryor
So xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx fuck
If you step up to the corpse then your goin to catch a xxxx you stupid fuck
Check out the way that he groves
Then call me horney, cause I xxxx anything that moves
My fucked up rhymes are sure to offend ya
So I'll drive over your body like the niggers from
Toxic Avenger
Rip out your brain through your nose
And when your girl comes over, I got a whole selection of dildos
So die, motherfucker, die
And don't ask me why +Punks+ get +Bruised up+ like So Lay Moon Fry
I rock a house part like I'm Lyle
Then I'll xxxx the dead corpse to techno cause I'm a necrophile
So if you want caca, get wit dis
If not, I'll bust out my dick and piss in your esaphogus
I drank a looters deposit
Mad Mooney's out like a faggot that just came out of the xxxxxx closet

[Chorus]

[Verse 2 - Goretex]
Check one two I got clout like a mortician
I got more fresh party than Donna's kitchen
A lime to a lemon and lemon to a lime
I rock a dead niggers skin every time I drop a rhyme
The Storm Troopers of death, kid that's how it goes
No one knows why I want your money and your close
I stink like sex I rob xxxxxxx welfare check
And I rob more cribs than Malcolm X
Yes its the bitcher with more Dick then Clark
I love to bash xxxxxxx on the head in Cntral Park
Postion sick infamous junky
A tech nine connected to my spine shows I'm fuck
The fridge it filled with fresh killed body parts
From niggers who dissed me to xxxxxxx who broke my heart
Now I'm mister murder, insert it in her
Baptised in blood I'm the celebate convertor
Aint misbehavin sick like west cravin
I'm open ya mommas legs vaginas I'm shaven
Bitin the heads off cocks like Ozzy Ozzbourne
Dead celebrities with the children of the corn
The butcher knife glock screamin till you die
Goretex put me in the chair till I fry

[Chorus]

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