Poetry In the Streets

Uh, peep the killer shit

That murder rap shit

Bitch

Check it

The press, runs to tape record the bloody mess

Documentation so the human race can study death

They'll reach you 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 is dead and smells putrid?

We murdered your natural flesh after bein' thrown in a river

We'll 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 'til your abdomen bled

Throw you off a building, killing off your children

Drilling holes in your corpse 'til

You're 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'll 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 the dose

You won't survive a screwdriver driven inside your throat

Choke on blood and saliva another conniver croaked

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 you're slaved up and shackled

I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth and shit on your face

Grind you into slop meat and serve you to your friends

We move in 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'll 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 not the type to smile at you, we the type to body you

Slit your throat with a broken bottle

Pieces of jagged glass stabbing you through your fucking eyeballs

Have you swallowin' cyanide and screaming, "Die whores!"

Watch it kill your physical first, next your mind's lost

Leave you in the funeral home, you make a fine corpse

Got you splattered across the walls while 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 you're slaved up and shackled