Chords for necro-poetry in the streets

[Dm] _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ [Bb] _ _ _ [F] Creepin' killer shit.
_ [C] Death, [Gm] murder, rap shit.
_ [Dm]
Bitch.
_ _ [Bb] _ _ _ _ [F]
Check it.
[C] _ _ _ [Gm] _ [Dm] The press, runs the tape, record the bloody mass.
[Bb] Documentation to the human race, can study death.
[F] They'll reach you through your TV speaker.
They'll feature a [C] creature that will preach to death.
[Gm] If he can meet ya, you're [Dm] executed when you're electrocuted.
[Bb] Who's responsible for a homeless man is dead.
He smells putrid, or [F] murdered your natural flesh.
After being thrown in a river, [C] we'll be frozen forever [Gm] into a statue of death.
[Dm] A grasshopper in the lab, dead stabbed in the head.
[Bb] Knives are like the hands of a crab, jabbing your flab to your bathroom and [F] blad.
Throw you off a building, [C] killing off your children.
Drilling holes in your [Gm] corpse, see you're spilling the color [Dm] vermilion.
We'll split your brain, so slit your vein.
The impact [Bb] of a bat, whacked across your back, is like getting hit by a [F] train.
I'll stick a fang in your blood bank and strangle [C] my shankled angle.
You like the [Gm] triangle teeth of a bangle.
[Dm] I think my shit's too brutal for most.
I [Bb] might be the only one capable of digesting a dose.
[F] You won't survive a screwdriver driven inside your throat.
[Em] Choking blood and saliva [Gm] with nothing can night but throat.
[Dm]
Poetry in the streets of the Big Apple, and [Bb] a vitality found in few other places.
Pull up [F] beneath the surface of the city, and you [C] shall uncover a seething set pool of [Gm] human emotions.
[Dm] Gone sour, a planet with nightmares.
I've [Bb] become reality, witness to brutality.
In poetry [F] in the streets of the Big Apple.
You get [C] tackled, then grapple to the floor, [Gm] white flame, dump and [Dm] shackle.
I spit on your grave, piss in your mouth and shit on your face.
Grind you into [Bb] slot meat and serve you to your friend.
[F] Removing bad taste, another brutal shooting rampage.
[E] Turning humans to ashtrays, [N] groupies to crack slaves.
With boobies that [Dm] black tape, twerking mad milk.
I never [Bb] have guilt, I have thrill.
I'll have your fags killed, in [F] front of your mom and dad's grill.
Splatter both of them, with pieces of your [Gm] exploded head.
Brain fragments, the stained clothing [Dm] red.
I make you love the pain, it hurts.
We make [Bb] music for drug addict pieces of shit.
That love the dirt, [F] it's psychological.
I'm like having a [C] rifle shot at you.
Me not the type to [Gm] smile at you, we the type to body [D] you.
Slit your throat with a broken bottle.
Pieces of [A] jagged glass nabbing you through your fucking [D] eyeballs.
Have you swallowed [F] with cyanide and screaming, die horse.
[Am] Watch it kill your [E] physical first, next your [Gm] mind's lost.
Leave you in the [Dm] funeral home, you make a fine corpse.
Got you splattered [Bb] across the walls with my nine-toss.
Murder you, [F] execution style like a crime boss.
Travel through time [G] and terminate you like a cyborg.
My [Dm] mentality's grindcore.
Poetry in the streets of the Big Apple.
[Bb] And a vitality found in few other places.
Pull up [F] beneath the surface of the city.
And you shall uncover [Em] a seething set pool of [Gm] human emotions.
[Dm] Gone sour, a planet with nightmares.
I've [Bb] become reality, witness to brutality.
There's [F] poetry in the streets of the Big Apple.
You get [C] tackled and grappled to the floor.
[Gm] White slave, doped and [Dm] shackled.
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