The ghettos of America are breeding grounds  For the criminal minded  As for years they have killed one another of  And America has enjoyed its creation  But now these ghetto-minded criminals  Have crossed the line into your neighborhood  And will soon give you a taste of the hell  That they have lived for so long  So pops, this time its your son gets shot  Deal with your own creation  Well, I've been to the storm house and then some  Payed me dues but I'm still a street hoodlum  Dropped out of school cuz I couldn't find my locker  Stubbles on my chin, I got hair like Chewbacca  Might see me sleeping on the street  Don't look for a job cuz there's no jobs looking for me  Then it all went to my head  Next, forty-nine motherfuckers dead  Tell the pigs I did it  Place spot at your back  And beat you in the head with it  And keep your bitch in place  Or I'm a send her ass home with a foot print on her face  Uh, I'm hating sluts  Shoot them in the face, steb back and itch my nuts  'Less I'm in the sac  Cuz I fuck so hard it'll break they back  All the pressure's packed into one nut  I was waiting on a bus and my head blew up  And the sight'll make ya sick  Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic    Psychopathic    Thought you know bitch  The ICP is made up of psychotic  Demented psycho clumsy motherfuckers  And we'll put a hook on your bumb leg  Like it ain't nobody's business    So I'm standing by the train tracks  Then you see me running but naked with a battle axe  I'm swinging and slicing and chopping and cutting and..  Aah, until I'm nothing  Seems like I always get beat down  Like the hawk turned to the wicked clown  Tail turned out to the ghetto cuz  Southwest Detriot is comended one's home  So you might see me at a festival  Cussin', rude, and scratching my testicles  With a cold two-liter in hand  Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand  Take it to the Patent Park  Then I'll make a sexist remark  Cuz they're all eventually bitching  Serve me fucking take your ass to the kitchen  Police don't like me it's obvious  Just don't look in the trunk  Or the sight'll make you sick  Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic    [theme from "Halloween"]    Yeah, I've always been a psycho  Psycho-psycho-sick-psycho-sick-psycho-psycho  I'll throw rocks at stray dogs  Build crackhouses out of Lincoln logs  I cut class, said I was a faker  You was in school, I was home watching Green Acres  Now I'm all up in your face  You can barely hear the rap with all that bass  I'm running with a southwest street gang  And I never let my southwest meat hang  Cuz you know what ICP's all about  Take a brick off the street  And bust you in the mouth  Find the girl's daddy's rich  And his sweet little angel's my sewer freak bitch  But I filled the turkey up with the stuffing  Like Billy Bill say, "a bitch ain't nothing"  Grab her by the arm and break  Grab her by the life and take it  And, ya know, the sight'll make ya sick  Violent J, motherfucker, psychopathic    Psychopathic