The Wicketsh*t Will Never Die lyrics

[Verse 1]
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, here comes the voodoo
Whacha gon' do when my crew
Back from the dead once mo' again
f*ckin' up the flow again, f*ck it here we go again
Oh, not me again, last time I wrecked sh*t
Burned down the church, comin' through like the Exorcist
Next to this you getting put on my sh*t list
Pro-Lifers get dissed, you can't f*ck with this
Wicket wild, wicket style
I don't give a f*ck I'll get buck wild
I'm psycho just like Michael
And I might go a little something like this suicidalist
Dangerous, minds bust when I bust
Kickin' up dust, now I must in God you trust
If I add just, then I add just this, no justice, no peace
Bloody body, police
Belly of the beast got me fiendin' for a cracker, Jack be nimble
Make your body tremble
Cardiac arrest from the one in the chest
Then I'll K-I-double-L-T-H-E-F-E-T-U-S
Yes, I'm down with N-A-T-A-S, I suggest you try but don't cry
'Cause the Wicketsh*t will never die

[Verse 2]
Once again I resurrected, n*ggas unexpected the closed casket
When I leaped out and blasted a basketcase
Symptoms of Insanity I'm not alone
Having fatal thoughts of putting the chrome to my dome
Now what kind of Wicketsh*t is Some Old Wicketsh*t?
Got so many n*ggas all on the Devil's di*k and sh*t
Stay up off my di*k, my style's sick, but I'm so sick of this
Hellterskkkelter, bite my sh*t, it's so ridiculous
I know my sh*t's fatter than Luther Vandross
Psychic connection want to hit me with the Holy Ghost
Overdose, diagnose, n*ggas in a comotose
Once I buck, buck you, n*gga motherf*ck you
Voodoo, wicked child born a bast*rd
Visions of bloody bodies being blasted
Thinking of excuses, voices in my head
Mental abuses to lose my mind on the flatline
Refuses to answer, you can bless sh*t 'til you question
Me and myself versus Smith & Wesson
I'm that n*gga with the wicket ass flow
b*tch you better act like you know
'Cause the Wicketsh*t will never die
[Verse 3]
The Wicketsh*t will never 187, never go to Heaven, and
f*ck that Reverend, all day whenever and
Feel like givin' up, mind starts blowin' up
Some Old Wicketsh*t, once again I'm throwin' up a fit
I'm never going to get into Heaven
That's why I bought me a .357, f*ck a Reverend
And God I can't trust, it's true, so when I go to Hell
Better me and not you, I'm going to walk the bloody trail
And you can follow if you want
If you truly understand, but my man I think you don't
I'm a suicidal, revital, my title's homicidal
So many n*ggas have died when I write my recital
They don't understand that I gotta plan for the Klan
The Aryan Nation, white caucasian
I'm sick of all this bullsh*t, I'd rather be dead
But first I'd rather put a bullet in your head instead
They said that everything I said was a lie
But if you go and kill the fetus you'll cry
But the Wicketsh*t will never die