madchild
03-09-2004, 10:52 PM
Mind of a Madman
This is a serial killer's thesis/
An analogy of the burial of Jesus//
To the decomposition of the Lyrical Thugs as if they were feces/
It's time to rearrange faces like one of Picasso's masterpieces//
Madchild's the master of suspense, I leave foes hanging like an umbilical/
I'm as psycho as Hitchcock who made audiences suffer as much as possible//
When the Child plays with you're thug's minds, you'd believe that 2pac had lyrical life/
Cause I leave nightmares more violent than the Hulk had when his dad knifed his own wife//
My battle rage is ferocious, flip on the mic like a switch does a light/
You girls make one more wrong move and I'll Boston strangle you in spite//
Lights out, playtime's over! Nothin' like a good strangulation to get the circulation goin'.
Your crew gets pounded more than red meat sees a cleaver/
Even if I switch hit, I beat your boy-girl band more than your dicks see beavers/
These shots spiral to your chest harder than Favre fires to his wide-receivers//
You better strap that vest on before you become a recipient of Dillinger's/
Cause the Lyrical Thugz are LCD's public enemy #1 and we be killin'yas//
We Rip the Jack out of your crews vocals and leave all of you speechless/
Then use your cords for Jump rope for heart and Admin says "I'm heartless?"//
Fuck, I'm vulgar, can't help it my taste buds are sicker than salmonella/
Let me tell ya, I'd dice-u-fellas, prepare yas like mortadella//
Feed you to my dogs and watch them fight over ya like Oscar de la Hoya/
All of your styles are so disguised that their underground like Mandela//
When I wrote this, red ink spurted from the pen tip fluently/
I anticipated your crew getting mouthy, that's movement to me/
So I went on a kill-n-spree/
I'll explain the deaths next time-4-free/
Just picture the movie Misery/
Blown-out knees, messy like Cobain debris/
i'm hella rusty
This is a serial killer's thesis/
An analogy of the burial of Jesus//
To the decomposition of the Lyrical Thugs as if they were feces/
It's time to rearrange faces like one of Picasso's masterpieces//
Madchild's the master of suspense, I leave foes hanging like an umbilical/
I'm as psycho as Hitchcock who made audiences suffer as much as possible//
When the Child plays with you're thug's minds, you'd believe that 2pac had lyrical life/
Cause I leave nightmares more violent than the Hulk had when his dad knifed his own wife//
My battle rage is ferocious, flip on the mic like a switch does a light/
You girls make one more wrong move and I'll Boston strangle you in spite//
Lights out, playtime's over! Nothin' like a good strangulation to get the circulation goin'.
Your crew gets pounded more than red meat sees a cleaver/
Even if I switch hit, I beat your boy-girl band more than your dicks see beavers/
These shots spiral to your chest harder than Favre fires to his wide-receivers//
You better strap that vest on before you become a recipient of Dillinger's/
Cause the Lyrical Thugz are LCD's public enemy #1 and we be killin'yas//
We Rip the Jack out of your crews vocals and leave all of you speechless/
Then use your cords for Jump rope for heart and Admin says "I'm heartless?"//
Fuck, I'm vulgar, can't help it my taste buds are sicker than salmonella/
Let me tell ya, I'd dice-u-fellas, prepare yas like mortadella//
Feed you to my dogs and watch them fight over ya like Oscar de la Hoya/
All of your styles are so disguised that their underground like Mandela//
When I wrote this, red ink spurted from the pen tip fluently/
I anticipated your crew getting mouthy, that's movement to me/
So I went on a kill-n-spree/
I'll explain the deaths next time-4-free/
Just picture the movie Misery/
Blown-out knees, messy like Cobain debris/
i'm hella rusty