Ch-ch-ch-check yo
Real sick hearing these pricks talk sh*t,
They get throat slit cos they're talkin' to me like I'm thick,
And I'm real tired of all these bullsh*t guys,
They best go hide cos I'm lookin for them on the sly,
Cos I've had it up to here, Right up to here,
I might have to do it Reservoir Dogs style, slice off the ear,
Cos I've had enough of bredders acting tough,
Trying to get rough when it's obvious they ain't rough enough.
Listen.
I'll just talk the talk, I walk it,
This is why my mouth is always coming out with raw sh*t,
My rap styles distorted,
Like Little Mo getting raped and keeping the baby instead of getting it aborted,
Yo, I talk morbid, just to make you feel awkward,
Death's a part of life, you just can't ignore it,
Especially when I rip out your heart and on my sleeve sport it,
Like it's something you think's precious, jus cos your dead gran bought it,
I talk so foul, I talk so coarse, I show no regret, I show no remorse,
Like a necromaniac raping a corpse, up the anal passage, while contracting genital warts,
My metaphors are twisted,
Like that game where you gotta put the hobnob in your gob if you're the last one to cum on the biscuit,
I'm so sadistic,
So I fantasize about finding my mum's ex floating in the tub with his wrist slit.
And I'm real sick hearing these pricks talk sh*t,
They get throat slit cos they're talkin to me like I'm thick,
And I'm real tired of all these bullsh*t guys,
They best go hide cos I'm lookin for them on the sly,
Cos I've had it up to here, Right up to here,
I might have to do it Reservoir Dogs style, slice off the ear,
Cos I've had enough of bredders acting tough,
Trying to get rough when it's obvious they ain't rough enough.
You best ban TV if you want me stop,
Cos I'm so heavily influenced by the things that I watch,
It ain't just Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs,
It's (irreversible(?)) where's my City OF God?
It's the news on every channel I watch when I turn on the box,
You seeing paedophiles signing on Top Of The Pops,
Gary Glitter, Michael Jackson what?
On the net, Ken Bigley got his neck tek off,
That's some nasty sh*t, I you wonder why I'm sick when I see this sh*t,
And I say exactly what I think,
That's some nasty sh*t, and you still don't ban it,
But you ban computer games,
Some things around just really stink,
What about cigarettes and alcoholic drinks?
Or the animal that died just so that your wife could wear that minks?
You're disgraceful, like getting caught pissing in the sink,
My white girlfriend won't suck my d*ck jus cos it's pink.
And I'm real sick hearing these pricks talk sh*t,
They get throat slit cos they're talkin to me like I'm thick,
And I'm real tired of all these bullsh*t guys,
They best go hide cos I'm lookin for them on the sly,
Cos I've had it up to here, Right up to here,
I might have to do it Reservoir Dogs style, slice off the ear,
Cos I've had enough of bredders acting tough,
Trying to get rough when it's obvious they ain't rough enough.
Check it.
The last verse is just as bad as the first,
But compared to the second, yo, this is definitely worse,
Cos this is about a guy gettin chauffeured in a hearse,
Let me do what Nas did and tell this sh*t in reverse,
The hearse brings corpse back to the morgue,
The guy from the morgue undresses the corpse,
The embalmment fluids goes back out, the blood goes back in,
The body goes back to hospital where it comes alive again,
The paramedics walk backwards, like an Irish dance,
Put the wounded man back in the ambulance,
The ambulances engine turns back on,
And its lights flashes as the sirens play his favourite song,
The guy goes back the exact spot where they found him,
And the medics and all the passers-by go back to where they came from,
Until eventually, no one surrounds him,
And the blood pours up him, rather than down him,
The man then falls upwards, back on his feet,
Stumbles towards a dark figure on the other side of the street,
He walks into the blade, that cut his belly,
Then he holds his neck which was bleeding already,
He removes his hand so you can see the cut,
And as the knife undoes the slice it closes back up,
He unsays the words, He said, "What you!? What the f*ck?"
And un-screams the scream from the first initial cut,
And then the blood from severely severed ear,
Crawls back up his cheek and slowly disappears,
As the knife in silhouette slowly un-hacks it from the ear,
Puts the knife away after reattaching the ear,
Then walks backwards through the bushes where he's disregarding nature,
Used to go on the bench, I'm reading his paper,
Takes the snail he stepped on, back from its creator,
Only to be killed again when I fast forward this sh*t later,
Back in his house, now back in his bed,
He unlistens to his CD and unbops his head,
Takes the CD out of the player and puts back in its case,
Which has my name on the cover, along with my face,
Fast forward: There's been a murder and the police know who done it,
They're looking for a motive cos they don't know why he done it,
Sure enough it don't take that long until they find a reason,
And they publicly state it on TV that evening,
A couple months later this sh*t gets banned,
Like it was me that put that switch in his hand,
And told him to kill that man,
Like this whole song was just some kind of sickly devised plan,
To hurt some poor c*nt I don't even know, and have never met before in my life,
It's worse: Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword was right,
And you'd better think twice before you step to me and pick a fight.
Sick 2 Def Lyrics performed by Plan B are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Sick 2 Def Lyrics performed by Plan B is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD