One for the Butcher Knife ’93 Necro (Ft. Goretex & ILL BILL)

[Chorus X2]
One for the butcher knife, two for the Glock!
(You can't kill me, 'cause I'm already dead! X3)

[Necro]
Peep my little friend his name is M-1-6
I got the butcher, knife to cut your fuckin' heart out for kicks
I'm on a killing spree, like a nigga named Manson
Right around your grave kid, is where I'll be dancin';
The Cha-Cha, you tried to flex and I shot ya
Ten to the head, and now you're motherfuckin' brain dead
Mad Moony needs mad clips
I got more rubber in my Glock than artificial hips
So now you're dead kid
'Cause you fuckin' bled kid
Every time I shot you in your motherfuckin' head kid
When you call my suicidal hotline
I'll tell you to blow your fuckin' brains out, with a TEC-9
Blowin' off your lips is somethin' I promote
So light up an M80 and shove it down your fuckin' throat
The rougher, the more you suffer, I'm the Messiah
My rhymes are thicker, than the afro on Richard Pryor
So fuck, fuck fuck fuck
If you step to the corpse then your goin' to catch a buck
You stupid fuck
Check out the way the beat grooves
They call me horny; 'cause I fuck anything that moves
My fucked up rhymes are sure to offend ya
So I'll drive, over your body like the niggas from Toxic Avenger
Rip out your brain through your nose
And when a girl comes over, I got a whole selection of dildos
So die motherfucker die
And don't ask me why punks get bruised up like Soleil Moon Frye
I rock a house party like Molile
And I fucked a dead corpse to techno, 'cause I'm a necrophile
So if you're warm ca-ca, get with this
If not I'll bust out my dick, and piss in your esophagus
I drank a blood donor's deposit
Now Moony's out like a faggot that just came out of the fuckin' closet