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(Necro) Poetry in the streets remix brand new third verse Necro and Ill Bill The press, runs the tape records the bloody mess documentations of the human race, can study death they'll reach in through your TV speaker they'll feature a creature that'll beat ya to death, if he can meet ya your executed when your electrocuted who's responsible for a homeless man thats dead and smells putrid we murdered your natural flesh after bein thrown in a river you'll 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 jabbin your flab till you wrapped them and bled throw you off a building killin off your children drillin' holes in your corpse till your spillin' the colours of a million i'll split your brains i'll slit your vains the impact of a bat cracked across your back is like gettin hit by a train i'll stick a fang in your blood bank then strangle my shangle bangle you like the triangle piece of an angle I think my shit's too brutal for most I might be the only one capable digesting the dose you won't survive a screw driver driven inside your throat choke on blood and saliva another kaniver croaks Remix! CHORUS: It's poetry in the streets of the big apple and a vitality found in few other places but look beneath the surface of the city and you shall uncover a steamin sesspool of human emotion gun sour, a planet, where nightmares that become reality witness the brutality its poetry in the streets of the big apple you get tackled and grappled to the floor, white slaved up and shackled I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth, and shit on your face grind you into slop meat and serve you to your friends we movin bad taste another brutal shootin rampage turnin humans to ashtrays doobies to crack slaves and boobies that lactate, squirtin mad milk, i never have guilt i have krills, i'll have you fags killed in front of your mom and dads grill splatterin both of them with pieces of your explodin head brain fragments stainin' clothing red i make you love the pain, it hurts we make music for drug addicts, pieces of shit, that love the dirt its psychological i'm like havin a rifle shot at you we not the type that smile at you we the type that bite at you slit your throat with the broken bottle pieces of jagged glass stabbin' you through your fuckin eyeballs have you swallowin cyanide screamin die whores kill your physical first, next your minds lost leave you in the funeral home you make a fine corpse got you splattered across the walls with my nine tongs murder you execution style like a crime boss travel through time and terminate you like a cyborg my mentallity's grind core Chorus It's poetry in the streets of the big apple and a vitality found in few other places but look beneath the surface of the city and you shall uncover a steamin sesspool of human emotion Remix! gun sour, a planet, where nightmares that become reality witness the brutality its poetry in the streets of the big apple you get tackled and grappled to the floor, white slaved up and shackled New Verse! Rescue crews show care for the living they?ll stick with them but once death is claimed paramedics show disregard for the victim you command respect when your alive but once you die your reduced to a bloody nusense a gruesome sight to the eye driven a taxi is 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 goin into respiratory arrest the fire men are pumpin your chest and hope in restoring your breath no ones immune to die in you disagree ur lyin to urself in time everything living's history

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