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Necro & Ill Bill - Street Villains, Volume 1 - Poetry in the Streets (remix)
Street Villains, Volume 1
01. Freestyle
02. Y'all Don't Wanna
03. Bury You With Satan (remix)
04. Freestyle
05. Murder Ya Life
06. Freestyle
07. Freestyle
08. Bitch Scream
09. Freestyle
10. Freestyle
11. Freestyle
12. Nuthin
13. Drugdealing
14. Poetry in the Streets (remix)
15. Stop Being Greedy
16. Dead Body Disposal (remix)
17. Freestyle
18. Killing's All Around
19. Freestyle
20. Dreams of Fucking a Porno Flick Bitch
21. The Hump Off
Poetry In The Streets Remix
Brand new third verse
Necro and ILL BILL!

The press runs the tape record the bloody mess
Documentation so the human race can study death
They'll reach ya through your TV speaker
They'll feature a creature that will beat you to death
If he can meet ya
You're executed when you're electrocuted
Who's responsible for a homeless man that's dead and smells putrid
We murdered your natural flesh after being thrown in a river
Will be frozen forever into a statue of death
A grasshopper in the lab dead, stabbed in the head
Knives are like the hands of a crab
Jabbing your flab till your bathroom and bled
Throw you off a building, killing off your children
Drilling holes in your corpse till your spilling the color vermillion
We'll split your brains, I'll slit your vein
The impact of a bat cracked across your back
Is like getting hit by a train
I'll stick a fang in your blood bank then strangle
My shank will mangle you like the triangle teeth of a bengal
I think my shit's too brutal for most
I might be the only one capable of digesting a dose
You won't survive a screwdriver driven inside your throat
Choke on blood and saliva another Kuniva croak
Remix!

There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
And the vitality found in few other places
But look beneath the surface of the city
And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions
Gone sour, a planet where nightmares
Have become reality, witness the brutality
There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
You get tackled and grappled to the floor
While slave, dump and shackle

I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth and shit on your face
Grind you into sloppy and serve you to your friends
We move with bad taste, another brutal shooting rampage
Turning humans to ashtrays, groupies to crack slaves
With boobies that lactate, squirting mad milk
I never have guilt, I have krills
I have you fags killed in front of your mom and dad's grill
Splatter both of them with pieces of your exploded head
Brain fragments are staining clothing red
I make you love the pain, it hurts
We make music for drug addicts, pieces of shit that love the dirt
It's psychological, I'm like having a rifle shot at you
We're not the type to smile at you, we're the type to body you
Slit your throat with a broken bottle
Pieces of jagged glass stabbing you through your fucking eyeballs
Have you swallowing cyanide and screaming, "Die whores!"
Watch it kill your physical first, next your mind's lost
Leave you in a funeral home, you make a fine corpse
Got you splattered across the walls where my nine talks
Murder you execution style like a crime boss
Travel through time and terminate you like a cyborg
My mentality's grindcore

There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
And the vitality found in few other places
But look beneath the surface of the city
And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions
Gone sour, a planet where nightmares
Have become reality, witness the brutality
There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
You get tackled and grappled to the floor
While slave, dump and shackle

Rescue crews show care for the living, they'll stick with 'em
But once death is claimed, paramedics show disregard for the victim
You command respect when you're alive but once you die
You're reduced to a bloody nuisance, a gruesome sight to the eye
Driving a taxi's a dangerous career
You might pick up the Grim Reaper
The passenger all taxi drivers fear
A robber might put a gun in your ear
And end your life with the twitch of a finger, it happens all year
You're going into respiratory arrest
Firemen are pumping your chest and hope of restoring your breath
No one's immune to dying, you disagree?
You're lying to yourself, in time everything living's history

There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
And the vitality found in few other places
But look beneath the surface of the city
And you shall uncover a seething cesspool of human emotions
Gone sour, a planet where nightmares
Have become reality, witness the brutality
There's poetry in the streets of the Big Apple
You get tackled and grappled to the floor
While slave, dump and shackle