(They're all gonna laugh at you)
(They're all gonna laugh at you)
(Ha ha ha ha ha ha)
(They're all gonna laugh at you)

Enter the mind of a sick nigga.
With bloody uzi clips,
Decapitated heads in baskets,
Closed caskets. Murda on wax.
Nigga, that's what its all about,
That's what you bought the mothafuckin' tape for.
Murda on wax.
Redrum. On wax.
Nigga, I said, red rum, on wax.

Gotta get my Prozac fore I go back
And murda these muthafuckas
Jumpin' up out yo bushes in front a yo house with a tech nine
Leavin' in yo spine a flurry a bullets
Its that killa S-P-I-C-E
A lot a these jealous muthafuckas they want to murda me
But they can't fuck with that giggedy-giggedy-gangsta
The nigga that's leavin' they mothafuckin' body parts in dumpstas
Budda-bye-bye-bye feel them blood clot rastas
The niggas who be out there slippin catch some buckshots to them head
Pullin up four deep in an old school caddy
Fully auto-maddy
Empty the clip, niggas like paddy
In the alley, niggas domes they cap
Pistol whippin' muthafuckas, got some blood on my strap

[Chorus]
What goes on in the mind of a sick nigga?
Them bloody bodies, face down in the dirty river
What goes on in the mind of a sick nigga?
Redrum, professional grave digga
What goes on in the mind of a sick nigga?
Them bloody bodies, face down in them dirty river
What goes on in the mind of a sick nigga?
187, professional grave digga

I'm bailin' up out the cut and niggas
They don't know what the fuck happened
I'm laughin' and blastin', rippin' asses in half an
Street sweepin' these niggas up under the rug
Plug they ass, makin' they hooptie blow up when they crash
Zonin' out that hash
Face down, back open, hopin' they ain't no snitches scopin'
Witnesses witness they own smokin'
See it ain't no joke and nothing funny
Bustin' caps in yo ass like Yosemite Sam and Bugs Bunny
They all see my comin' and then they fled
I'm shootin' these niggas off in the backa they head
Blowin off they legs
Talkin' shit while they dyin'
Fuckin' off they high an
Hollow points keepin' these niggas cold bodies fryin'
I ain't no stranger to this killin' shit
You shoulda thought before you fucked with this nigga you was dealin' with
You see I mobs through the ghetto smokin' hash blunts
Stalkin' game in the streets I grew up in
And when the shit get funky I just get on up
And blow your head off with a mothafuckin' mac 10, bitch

[Chorus]

You'll be outta this muthafucka like Ron Goldman, chopped the fuck up
Ain't no nigga livin' alive that survived
And had me caught up in some bullshit
Now who you tryin' to fuck up in the hustle
This twenty gauge'll ripple your ass up like a can a Ruffles
I'm tryin to bubble like Johnson and Johnson
With one in the chamber up an I load this strap with a 45 Thompson
And we gon' see if all that shit is true
Comin' up out the bay, guaranteed to be 187 proof
You see my bustin' with one hand up on my nut sack
Departin' domes yellin' out who's the mothafuckin' mac
Its that red infa, nigga with a hot temper
I got your funeral date set up for next September
You gon' be deader than livin' presidents
'cause in a couple a secs your soul gon' be checkin' up outta its residence
Bodies stiff like Christmas ornaments
Because the niggas that a fuck with me bein' mo funk than Parliment

[Chorus]

You see I mobs through the ghetto smokin' hash blunts
Stalkin' game in the streets I grew up in
And when the shit get funky I just get on up
And blow your head off with a mothafuckin' mac 10, bitch

[Chorus]

(Nigga, what you thinkin' bout?)

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): BOSCO A. KANTE, JALIL HUTCHINS, LAWRENCE SMITH, ROBERT LEE JR. GREEN