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​Murder Murder Murder

This song is by Psychopathic Rydas.

(Monoxide Child)
First I plan my escape.
Nothin' on papes and live the scene without a trace.
I'm lookin' dead in her face.
But she don't see me I'm unoticed.
I head straight to her window for better focus.
Hokus Pokus!
I see the door serve light, I let myself in.
Head full of room with plans of murder and mayhem.
There she go, there that bitch lay.
Livin' on this earth to my dismay.
Time to pay!
Palms are sweaty I'm bout to vomit.
I grabbed the knife outta my belt and jab it in her stomach.
Again and again, now she's screamin like I care.
But I could give a fuck less before she dies I grab her by her blood
Soaked hair.
And tell her shits gonna be all right on my end.
I'm glad it happened this way, back in my daughters life again.
Ain't it a shame?
That it came to this.
Life goes on except for one less bitch.
Ain't it trip?

Murder Murder Murder. You never heard of it.
?Bomb in the doors.? Bodies in the hurst.
Now your lifes goin' because we wanted you to die.
Time to kiss your ass goodbye!
Don't ask why.

(Jamie Maddrox)
It was Tuesday December 24, 97.
Time on the clock 1:11.
Thinkin' bout sendin somebody to heaven.
On the crossroads of faith of a soul lies in my hands.
I suppose, know I'm wearin dark clothes.
Parked on the sidestreet.
Peepin out the scenary.
Make sure ain't nobody seein me.
As I move to the trunk of the stolen car.
Up to the back door with the crowbar.
So far the plans fullproof.
All from the phone booth.
Got the message machine.
Nobody's on the scene.
Kick in the backdoor, 1:34
Lookin' for the family dog, thor!
Kicked him in jaw with the workboots.
Knocked a couple teeth loose.
Smacked him in the mouth with my empty duce duce.
Then I smile!
Break his neck and watch him piss on kitchen tile.
Never liked him since the day he try to play me foul.
Tried to bite me, stab a stake knife in his head.
So much for that man's best friend.
Know I'm all up in the place in the bedroom masterbatin.
Cumin on the sheets and pillow cases.
Fuck that bitch, she's just a kunt.
And her mother's nothin' but a slut.
Can't wait to seal her mouth shut.
2:30 she returns home from work.
Nice blouse, tight shirt.
Business attire.
For this hooker for hire.
Throw the keys on the table said baby are you home.
Didn't expect Bones.
Were alone.
And she's reachin' for the telephone, to call the police.
Strangled with the cord, now deceased.
In a process of a suffication.
Being fucked up for demonstration.
Let 'em till I know I'm many faces.
Now she's dead in the closet.
Hangin' out with all the winter clothes.
In the struggle suffered a bloody nose.
But I'm straight though.
As I move to the bathroom to wash my hands.
It's all part of the plan.
Don't think you understand, SEE!