(Necro)   Poetry in the streets remix   brand new third verse   Necro and Ill Bill      The press, runs the tape records the bloody mess   documentations of the human race, can study death   they'll reach in through your TV speaker   they'll feature   a creature that'll beat ya to death, if he can meet ya   your executed when your electrocuted   who's responsible for a homeless man thats dead   and smells putrid   we murdered your natural flesh after bein thrown in a river   you'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   jabbin your flab till you wrapped them and bled   throw you off a building   killin off your children   drillin' holes in your corpse till your spillin' the colour vermillion   i'll split your brains   i'll slit your veins   the impact of a bat cracked across your back   is like gettin hit by a train   i'll stick a fang in your blood bank   then strangle   my shangle mangle   you like the triangle   piece of an angle   I think my shit's too brutal for most   I might be the only one capable digesting the dose   you won't survive a screw driver driven inside your throat   choke on blood and saliva another kaniver croaks      Remix!      CHORUS:   It's poetry in the streets of the big apple   and a vitality found in few other places   but look beneath the surface of the city   and you shall uncover a steamin sesspool of human emotion      gun sour, a planet, where nightmares   that become reality   witness the brutality    its poetry in the streets of the big apple   you get tackled    and grappled to the floor, white 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 movin bad taste   another brutal shootin rampage   turnin humans to ashtrays   doobies to crack slaves   and boobies that lactate,    squirtin mad milk, i never have guilt   i have krills, i'll have you fags killed   in front of your mom and dads grill   splatterin both of them   with pieces of your explodin head   brain fragments stainin' clothing red   i make you love the pain, it hurts   we make music for drug addicts, pieces of shit, that love the dirt   its psychological   i'm like havin a rifle shot at you   we not the type that smile at you    we the type that bite at you   slit your throat with the broken bottle   pieces of jagged glass stabbin' you through your fuckin eyeballs   have you swallowin cyanide screamin die whores   kill your physical first, next your minds lost   leave you in the funeral home you make a fine corpse   got you splattered across the walls when my nine talks   murder you execution style like a crime boss   travel through time and terminate you like a cyborg   my mentality's grind core      Chorus   It's poetry in the streets of the big apple   and a vitality found in few other places   but look beneath the surface of the city   and you shall uncover a steamin sesspool of human emotion      Remix!      gun sour, a planet, where nightmares   that become reality   witness the brutality    its poetry in the streets of the big apple   you get tackled    and grappled to the floor, white slaved up and shackled      New Verse!      Rescue crews show care for the living    they'll stick with them but once death is claimed   paramedics show disregard for the victim    you command respect when your alive but once you    die your reduced to a bloody nusense a gruesome sight    to the eye driven a taxi is 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 goin into respiratory    arrest the fire men are pumpin your chest and hope in restoring your breath no ones immune to dyin' in you disagree you're lyin to urself in time everything living's history