Twisted Insane
Underground Psycho
[Verse 1: Twisted Insane]
Yeah
I'm that individual that you don't wanna see up on a full moon
Might turn into werewolf, sh*t, n***a, it can be a nightmare if I go cuckoo
Brain splatter on the floor, any minute I get with it, yeah, I did it if a motherf**ker wolfing
I don't wanna hear that "Hold on, wait a minute, I just wanna talk", motherf**ker, just take the a** whooping
Mhm, sick n***a, still on the block with the gangsta sh*t
Standin' outside with the heater on
Go on a mission with a gangsta b*t*h
Up in the club with a gang of b*t*hes
You can act like I ain't the sh*t
But don't be all up on me when I'm leaving with the homies
And you're running through the door like you're chasing d**k (Brainsick)
What's this? Like a n***a ain't big no more?
Coming through the door, doing different shows, f**king hoes
N***as on the road, I ain't lit no more?
Maybe 'cause a n***a don't spit slow-mo?
And you other n***as, is this so-so?
Back up out my lane 'fore I rip a n***a brain
Get the f**k up out my way, I ain't playing no more

[Interlude]
Hold up n***a, you trying to smoke up all the weed again, n***a? (No)
Aye, come in here with that sh*t, n***a
I'm-I'm-I swear you ain't finna be doing this sh*t to me again, n***a (A'ight)
You know what I mean, while I'm in this motherfuka trying to do my sh*t
(I got you, nig') I just need a quick hit, n***a, while I go in
I'm back

[Continued Verse]
Gimme the weed I need to be before a n***a do my verse
Smoking it by the ton, I need a pound to fill my f**king hearse
Yeah, I play to win, I used to sit 'em on the play, watching Ray's event
Different motherf**kers coming every day to spend
I made so much money at the days-a end

[Chorus: C-Mob]
Un-underground psycho
You don't really wanna tag on your toe
I'mma leave 'em with a .44 Mag to your hoe
Leave you chopped up, laying in a bag on the floor
Un-underground psycho
F**k around, you'll be losing your brain
Make a move when I go and get the tools out the shed
I'm sick f**k, I don't have screws in my head
Under-underground psycho
Most of you rappers are wack with the bars
Better come correct, don't act like you're hard
I'ma leave your body parts in the back of my yard
Un-underground psycho
No love for a punk or a b*t*h
Keep 'em in the basement or the trunk of my whip
Then when I'm done you'll get dumped in a ditch
[Verse 2: Twisted Insane]
D-d-d-d-different n***a
Call it what you want to, I'm a f**kin' nut
Coming in, wolfing disrespectful sh*t
All these little n***as will f**k you up
S-some of the n***as even might cut you up
And put you in the freezer with the chicken guts
Get ready for filleting, I can open up his brain
And I can hear you people saying "This n***a nuts"
When I get up on it and I really be up on it
I be pushing like a comet, I be feeling supersonic
Kinda like I was bionic with the gin and f**kin' tonic
And I really go gorilla 'cause I was feeling super on it
Hear the muthaf**ka wolfing so I make him taste the vomit
Then I bring him to the dark and then I make him feel it haunted
And I feed him to the fish and make 'em meal up out the stomach
When I'm skidding past a muthaf**ka like I work at Sonic
Wicked n***a, come from the era of the gangsta pimp
Won't be caught dead in skinny jeans
B*t*h, I still walk around with a gangsta limp
Half the new n***as is gangsta simps
Better yet now, gangsta wimps
You better for reala and you better be a killer
'Fore you run up on gorilla, blood, I ain't a chimp
Psy-Psy-Psy-Psy-Psycho n***a
Living up on the edge, head full of steam
I'm from Diego, California, where these n***as run up on ya
Turn your face into bologna, hit the bowl of green
Yeah, I'ma shoot 'em when I'm murdering a witch n***a
When I catch 'em, wouldn't wanna be a b*t*h n***a
I couldn't give a mad f**k about a president
That's still a b*t*h in person then I’ll run up on a rich n***a
[Chorus: C-Mob]
Un-underground psycho
You don't really wanna tag on your toe
I'mma leave 'em with a .44 Mag to your hoe
Leave you chopped up, laying in a bag on the floor
Un-underground psycho
F**k around, you'll be losing your brain
Make a move when I go and get the tools out the shed
I'm sick f**k, I don't have screws in my head
Under-underground psycho
Most of you rappers are wack with the bars
Better come correct, don't act like you're hard
I'ma leave your body parts in the back of my yard
Un-underground psycho
No love for a punk or a b*t*h
Keep 'em in the basement or the trunk of my whip
Then when I'm done you'll get dumped in a ditch

[Verse 3: C-Mob]
P-P-Pedal to the metal, man, I never half a** sh*t
On another level, spitting that acid
Give 'em that package, then I act savage
You are not a rapper, you are just a wack actress
Radio rappers are quicker to slaughter
Feel like I'm giving this d**k to your daughter
F**king 'em till it gets thicker than water
Lyrically castrating rappers, so we're probably on one
You don't wanna see me get loco, you are not OG Bobby Johnson
They're telling me I'm sort of crazy
I'd say the odds are more than maybe
Killin' off gold diggers, can't afford a lady
I'ma leave 'em in the trash like aborted babies
Sick of the trickery, tricks'll be history quickly if you be f**king with me
Triggers be flickering, whistling, wickedly sickening, it'll be something to see
Laying in the back of a seven-eleven, send you up to heaven, ascended to pearly gates
Scalping a motherf**ker like a Native American, instead of a tomahawk I'm using a .38
Sicker than syphilis, twisted like licorice
Gifted with wickedness, b*t*hes and mistresses
Lifted like Icarus, this is ridiculous
Chris is meticulous with the word, ripping this
Dropping pipe bombs in your chimney on Chris-a-mas
Like a sadomasochistic Saint Nicholas
Twisted Insane and C-Mob are coming through your neighborhood tearing sh*t up, we're so sick with this

[Chorus: C-Mob]
Un-underground psycho
You don't really wanna tag on your toe
I'mma leave 'em with a .44 Mag to your hoe
Leave you chopped up, laying in a bag on the floor
Un-underground psycho
F**k around, you'll be losing your brain
Make a move when I go and get the tools out the shed
I'm sick f**k, I don't have screws in my head
Under-underground psycho
Most of you rappers are wack with the bars
Better come correct, don't act like you're hard
I'ma leave your body parts in the back of my yard
Un-underground psycho
No love for a punk or a b*t*h
Keep 'em in the basement or the trunk of my whip
Then when I'm done you'll get dumped in a ditch