[Verse 1]
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, here comes the voodoo
Whacha gon' do when my crew
Back from the dead once mo' again
Fuckin' up the flow again, fuck it here we go again
Oh, not me again, last time I wrecked shit
Burned down the church, comin' through like the Exorcist
Next to this you getting put on my shit list
Pro-Lifers get dissed, you can't fuck with this
Wicket wild, wicket style
I don't give a fuck I'll get buck wild
I'm psycho just like Michael
And I might go a little something like this suicidalist
Dangerous, minds bust when I bust
Kickin' up dust, now I must in God you trust
If I add just, then I add just this, no justice, no peace
Bloody body, police
Belly of the beast got me fiendin' for a cracker, Jack be nimble
Make your body tremble
Cardiac arrest from the one in the chest
Then I'll K-I-double-L-T-H-E-F-E-T-U-S
Yes, I'm down with N-A-T-A-S, I suggest you try but don't cry
'Cause the Wicketshit will never die

[Verse 2]
Once again I resurrected, n***as unexpected the closed casket
When I leaped out and blasted a basketcase
Symptoms of Insanity I'm not alone
Having fatal thoughts of putting the chrome to my dome
Now what kind of Wicketshit is Some Old Wicketshit?
Got so many n***as all on the Devil's dick and shit
Stay up off my dick, my style's sick, but I'm so sick of this
Hellterskkkelter, bite my shit, it's so ridiculous
I know my shit's fatter than Luther Vandross
Psychic connection want to hit me with the Holy Ghost
Overdose, diagnose, n***as in a comotose
Once I buck, buck you, n***a motherfuck you
Voodoo, wicked child born a bastard
Visions of bloody bodies being blasted
Thinking of excuses, voices in my head
Mental abuses to lose my mind on the flatline
Refuses to answer, you can bless shit 'til you question
Me and myself versus Smith & Wesson
I'm that n***a with the wicket ass flow
Bitch you better act like you know
'Cause the Wicketshit will never die
[Verse 3]
The Wicketshit will never 187, never go to Heaven, and
Fuck that Reverend, all day whenever and
Feel like givin' up, mind starts blowin' up
Some Old Wicketshit, once again I'm throwin' up a fit
I'm never going to get into Heaven
That's why I bought me a .357, fuck a Reverend
And God I can't trust, it's true, so when I go to Hell
Better me and not you, I'm going to walk the bloody trail
And you can follow if you want
If you truly understand, but my man I think you don't
I'm a suicidal, revital, my title's homicidal
So many n***as have died when I write my recital
They don't understand that I gotta plan for the Klan
The Aryan Nation, white caucasian
I'm sick of all this bullshit, I'd rather be dead
But first I'd rather put a bullet in your head instead
They said that everything I said was a lie
But if you go and kill the fetus you'll cry
But the Wicketshit will never die