Artist: Spice 1
Album: 1990-Sick
Song: Mind of a Sick N***a

(Theyre all gonna laugh at you)
(Theyre all gonna laugh at you)
(Hahahahahaha)
(Theyre all gonna laugh at you)

Enter the mind of a sick n***a
With bloody uzi clips
Decapitated heads in baskets
Closed caskets. Murda on wax
N***a, thats what its all about
Thats what you bought the muthafuckin tape for
Murda on wax
Redrum. On wax
N***a, I said, redrum, on wax

Gotta get my prozac fore I go back
And murda these muthafuckas
Jumpin up out yo bushes in front a yo house with a tech nine
Leavin in yo spine a flurry a bullets
Its that killa S-P-I-C-E
A lot a these jealous muthafuckas they wanna murda me
But they can't fuck with that giggedy-giggedy-gangsta
The n***a thats leavin they muthafuckin body parts in dumpstas
Budda-bye-bye-bye feel them blood clot rastas
The n***as who be out there slippin catch some buckshots to them head
Pullin up four deep in an old school caddy
Fully auto-maddy
Empty the clip, n***as like paddy
In the alley, n***as domes they cap
Pistol whippin muthafuckas, got some blood on my strap
(Chorus)

What goes on in the mind of a sick n***a?
Them bloody bodies, face down in the dirty river
What goes on in the mind of a sick n***a?
Redrum, professinal gravedigga
What goes on in the mind of a sick n***a?
Them bloody bodies, face down in them dirty river
What goes on in the mind of a sick n***a?
187, professinal gravedigga

Im bailin up out the cut and n***as they dont know what the fuck happened
Im laughin and blastin, rippin asses in half an
Street sweepin these n***as up under the rug
Plug they ass, makin they hooptie blow up when they crash
Zonin out that hash
Face down, back open, hopin they ain't no snitches scopin
Witnesses witness they own smokin
See it ain't no joke and nothing funny
Bustin caps in yo ass like Yosemite Sam and Bugs Bunny
They all see my comin and then they fled
Im shootin these n***as off in the backa they head
Blowin off they legs
Talkin shit while they dyin
Fuckin off they high an
Hollow points keepin these n***as cold bodies fryin
I ain't no stranger to this killin shit
You shoulda thought before you fucked with this n***a you was dealin with
You see I mobs through the ghetto smokin hash blunts
Stalkin game in the streets I grew up in
And when the shit get funky I just get on up
And blow your head off with a muthafuckin mac 10, bitch
Chorus

Youll be outta this muthafucka like Ron Goldman, chopped the fuck up
Ain't no n***a livin alive that survived
And had me caught up in some bullshit
Now who you tryin to fuck up in the hustle
This 20 gaugell ripple your ass up like a can a Ruffles
Im tryin to bubble like Johnson and Johnson
With one in the chamber up an I load this strap with a 45 Thompson
And we gon see if all that shit is true
Comin up out the bay, guaranteed to be 187 proof
You see my bustin with one hand up on my nutsac
Departin domes yellin out whos the muthafuckin mac
Its that red infa, n***a with a hot temper
I got your funeral date set up for next September
You gon be deader than livin presidents
Cuz in a couple a secs your soul gon be checkin up outta its residence
Bodies stiff like Christmas ornaments
Because the n***as that a fuck with me bein mo funk than Parliment

Chorus

You see I mobs through the ghetto smokin hash blunts
Stalkin game in the streets I grew up in
And when the shit get funky I just get on up
And blow your head off with a muthafuckin mac 10, bitch
Chorus

(N***a, what you thinkin bout?)