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    Compton's Most Wanted / Lyrics

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    "1990-Sick (Kill 'em All)" Lyrics

    Compton's Most Wanted feat. Spice 1

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    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    'cause everybody dyin' on this mothafuckin' album
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Don't kick up in the dirt when I'm puttin' in work
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    Kill 'em all
    'cause everybody dyin' on this mothafuckin' album

    I murda like this (this)
    I murda like that (that)
    Pull an AK-47 up out my mothafuckin' gangsta hat
    Professional, Columbian, necktiea, barbwire
    Strangula, over killa, dead fuckin' body hanga
    Peepin' out the window with an AK
    Pullin' up on these coppas
    Helicoptas, squad cars, squat 10's with choppas
    They tellin' me "nigga, get the fuck out before ya die
    If you surrender, we'll make sure that you quickly fry"
    Should I kick open the door and go to war
    Or should I stick my throat
    Leave a pipe bomb and a fuck you note
    Hallucinations of seein' lynched bodies burnin'
    And all the po-po had faces like Mark Furhman
    Tear gas through my glass window pane
    They want to put me back up in the nut house again
    But I'm not goin' back and take my Prozac
    They can keep the straight jacket
    And leave a straight mothafuckin' jack
    A straight mothafuckin' jack
    A straight mothafuckin' jack


    (Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick)

    Nigga's to pull the lynch
    Yayo case and stick
    Marcia Clark screamin' out murda, jumpin' on Oj's dick
    Muthafuckas still sufferin' and healin'
    Some high tech knowledga white boys blew up the fuckin' fed buildin'
    Crazy niggas still bangin' and slangin' crack
    To the death, when the game put 'em up on they back
    Muthafuckas catchin' names, from shootin' high
    And phony niggas still get sprayed up on the block
    And I ain't changed much, hell
    I'm still smokin' four or five mothafuckin' choppas before it's twelve
    Muthafuckas think they know me, but they don't know
    I'm sellin' first class tickets to the murda show
    Don't want to rap about no nigga, let's get it on
    bustin' domes, buck shots through your rib bone
    So all you niggas up in the magazines talkin' shit
    Get off my dick, I'm 1990-sick


    Muh-uh-mobbin' up out the see you-uh-cut
    With a ready to pow one
    Nuh-uh-90 sick content of the album
    If there's a cure for this, don't cure me
    I'm comin' with the fury
    Playa hata's gettin' hung up like a jury
    So peep the game from an old school G you know so well
    The east bay gangsta, leaving caution tape and faces pale
    I bails on a full moon like the 12 o clock
    Neighborhood watch scared to look and see who on the block
    Just fed a rally's, no po-po come around here
    'cause it's a different time, different game, different year
    1990 sick

    [Chorus: x2]

    (Get the hell off my dick, I'm 1990-sick)
    This song was submitted on September 6th, 2013 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Thanks to Snap for the contribution to this song.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Aaron Tyler, Gentry Reed, Robert Lee Jr. Green.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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