Ooo, I like this toy. Watch it go. Uw...wait! [gunshots]
We’re sorry the person you are calling is dead
[Violent J] I was like six, I used to get dissed by the chicks And everyone would chase me and hit me with bricks And rocks and sticks and calling me names And filled my lunchbox with frogbrains (eeww!) When I left school, it was much iller My daddy was a serial killer And how about that, he’d always make me sit in the back With all his dead bodies on my lap (move!) When I got home, enough of the static Hammer and tools, went up to the attic Never knew any other girls or boys Only my toys, toys, toys Bang! Clang! Hammer and twist Nobody knows I exist, and I’m pissed But I won’t be mentally scarred Instead I make toys, toys of the graveyard Monday, ringing the bell It’s all about show and tell, might as well Show all these bastards just what I got Yo, check out my toy box!
“Nothing feels better than a good harty-harr, right boys and girls”
[Violent J] We got dead bodies everywhere you look All the nerds sitting up front got cooked Others start screaming and making a dash So I start handing out toys fast at last You like slinkies, we got slinkies Only mine like to wrap around your face And stretch, twist, kazoom And whip your body all over the fuckin room So come, one at a time Open your gift and what you will find Is a toy, my friend, that you’ll never forget It’s not everyday that you get your skull split You like soldiers, we got soldiers Made with rubber and steel, they look real But I wouldn’t just toss em under your bed That’s how you get an axe to the forehead (oww) And don’t let em sit around all day Come home and find you mom, dead in the hallway Cuz they can be nifty All the toys are shifty, haha, in my toy box
“Woooowee, that sure sounds like fun!”
[Violent J] That’s not a toy, hey, wait a minute Don’t fuck around, homie, you can lose an eye with it That’s my double blade razor whip chop jimmy And it’s mine, motherfucker, so gimme gimme You want toys, you come to the right place Try my little toy, Mutilating Mental Case Wind him up, let him go among all of ya Then BANG! serial slaughterer Your turn, reach in and get lucky Oh look, he pulled out a rubber ducky It make a funny sound and then BANG! Blew the fingers off his fuckin hand Don’t stop, class ain’t done yet I remember you calling me poindexter Bookworm brainy, my aggrevation Went into these little creations Reach in, you might find something wicked Wicked, scary, chop bang pickadery Off with your head, a robot with a sword But now he’s looking at me, but what for? “Eh, wait a minute, I made you Get them, not me. Eh, wait a minute, motherfucker.” “Oh, I love this record.”Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
