Text:
D R I Dead In A Ditch

fucked up and drove off a cliff Ended up dead, dead in a ditch Just like her mother always told her she'd end up All fucked up, dead, dead in a ditch

fucked up and drove off a cliff Ended up dead, dead in a ditch Just like her mother always told her she'd end up All fucked up, dead, dead in a ditch

and it ain't no place to run And plus I pack a Bible, a shovel and a shot gun And I'm go preach a funeral, ICP don't ride a hearse You think it's over

red We won't rest until your "sport" is dead Sick bastards dressed in red We won't rest until your sort is dead A child's face is smeared with blood A

Mr. Nitty bein hoe Don't risk your neck from the brother on the boulevard G-r-a-v-e-y-a-r-d bitch it's the graveyard Stop into the graveyard been chillen

Eye what's mine is yours I need a suite with the flowers complentary at Trump Towers Sit at the table we can build for hours on gettin riches, a cinch, take a

Mr. Nitty bein hoe Don't risk your neck from the brother on the boulevard G-r-a-v-e-y-a-r-d bitch it's the graveyard Stop into the graveyard been chillen

We own this bitch And I never hesate to put it on the bitch And this owned by the motherfuckin murda (I-N-C) V-I-T-A and i see no (other choice) But to

GD's and my C-R-I-P's My vice lord's and B-L double O-D's This is for my GD's and my C-R-I-P's My vice lord's and B-L double O-D's [Chorus] I got that