"Prelude" lyrics
(feat. Psychopathic Family)
(originally by N.W.A.)
The motherfuckin' saga continues
All hail to those who believe in the Dark Carnival
I am the dead homie Blaze
Lettin' you know that when it comes to Juggalo life
It makes the rest of the shit that much harder to deal with
Yeah! DJ Clay in the mother fucker
Southwest forever! Chop! Chop!
Two whoops for the Juggalos worldwide
And you know that I'm down with the wicked-ass clowns for life
Yo, ABK, tell 'em what the fuck we here for
Well alright, y'all, it's the native world, always
Detroit, Boston, Denver, Albuquerque
All across the motherfuckin' USA
They know we walk through the valley of real killers
We damn sure fear no man or no motherfuckin' plan
Yo, Jumpsteady, hit me one
From the depth of Picker Forest
To the farthest reaches of Earth
We have seen through the eyes of some realm killers
Yo, 187, what you think about the world's most hated?
They make some of the coolest shit I'da never heard
The psychopathic assassin
Forever blastin' out the wild wild west world
[?] give it up to the demented motherfuckin' duo, Twiztid
Monoxide, let them know
Man, the industry is sick
The whole pussy-ass world is fuckin' sick, man
Super infected, death-ridden, sick
Oh, uh? We the only ones with the antidote, baby
We got that "Free your mind" shit
All damn day, all night long
Jamie, tell 'em
The hatchet man can't be killed
They want us dead, but no
We stay movin'
Throughout a global network of underground tunnels
We are behind every motherfuckin' wall
And within every fortress
We are unstoppable, and nothing's unchoppable
Yo, Violent J, let it rain, let it rip
The wicked clowns are back, 'cause there's too many bullshit records out
And they fiendin' for what we put out
But you don't have to wait no longer
'Cause the new album is out, and the shit is much stronger
So many groups made three albums or more
And the weak-ass shit still sittin' in the record store
They wonder why it never sold
They been rappin' since the 80's and still never went gold
Our last record sold mad fuckin' copies
That's because you other mother fuckers are sloppy
You came out weak and crossed over
And after that, your career is fuckin' over
Because of that, you're not around
'Cause you don't have the motherfuckin' sound of the underground
Yeah, everybody's on the run from the hatchet man
Kill 'em, Shaggs
Most cowards can't understand
And never will if they don't run with the fuckin' hatchet man
Killers is dedicated to the streets
With hype fuckin lyrics and the dope-ass beats
And then I'd never come soft, because I come off
So don't get in my way or, mother fucker, you'll be cut off
And here's somethin' you can move your lips to
And wrap around my dick and suck if it fits you
And let me now if you wanna ride the D-I-C-K
All day, that's with no play
'Cause ain't no rap group out that I know
That make me wanna listen to the radio
All I hear is motherfuckers tryin' to make a comeback
With love songs, and that shit is wack
And that's why your ass ain't around
Cause you don't have the motherfuckin' sound of the underground
All hail to those who believe in the Dark Carnival
I am the dead homie Blaze
Lettin' you know that when it comes to Juggalo life
It makes the rest of the shit that much harder to deal with
Yeah! DJ Clay in the mother fucker
Southwest forever! Chop! Chop!
Two whoops for the Juggalos worldwide
And you know that I'm down with the wicked-ass clowns for life
Yo, ABK, tell 'em what the fuck we here for
Well alright, y'all, it's the native world, always
Detroit, Boston, Denver, Albuquerque
All across the motherfuckin' USA
They know we walk through the valley of real killers
We damn sure fear no man or no motherfuckin' plan
Yo, Jumpsteady, hit me one
From the depth of Picker Forest
To the farthest reaches of Earth
We have seen through the eyes of some realm killers
Yo, 187, what you think about the world's most hated?
They make some of the coolest shit I'da never heard
The psychopathic assassin
Forever blastin' out the wild wild west world
[?] give it up to the demented motherfuckin' duo, Twiztid
Monoxide, let them know
Man, the industry is sick
The whole pussy-ass world is fuckin' sick, man
Super infected, death-ridden, sick
Oh, uh? We the only ones with the antidote, baby
We got that "Free your mind" shit
All damn day, all night long
Jamie, tell 'em
The hatchet man can't be killed
They want us dead, but no
We stay movin'
Throughout a global network of underground tunnels
We are behind every motherfuckin' wall
And within every fortress
We are unstoppable, and nothing's unchoppable
Yo, Violent J, let it rain, let it rip
The wicked clowns are back, 'cause there's too many bullshit records out
And they fiendin' for what we put out
But you don't have to wait no longer
'Cause the new album is out, and the shit is much stronger
So many groups made three albums or more
And the weak-ass shit still sittin' in the record store
They wonder why it never sold
They been rappin' since the 80's and still never went gold
Our last record sold mad fuckin' copies
That's because you other mother fuckers are sloppy
You came out weak and crossed over
And after that, your career is fuckin' over
Because of that, you're not around
'Cause you don't have the motherfuckin' sound of the underground
Yeah, everybody's on the run from the hatchet man
Kill 'em, Shaggs
Most cowards can't understand
And never will if they don't run with the fuckin' hatchet man
Killers is dedicated to the streets
With hype fuckin lyrics and the dope-ass beats
And then I'd never come soft, because I come off
So don't get in my way or, mother fucker, you'll be cut off
And here's somethin' you can move your lips to
And wrap around my dick and suck if it fits you
And let me now if you wanna ride the D-I-C-K
All day, that's with no play
'Cause ain't no rap group out that I know
That make me wanna listen to the radio
All I hear is motherfuckers tryin' to make a comeback
With love songs, and that shit is wack
And that's why your ass ain't around
Cause you don't have the motherfuckin' sound of the underground
Writer(s): Mike E. Clark, William Dail, Joseph Bruce
