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Insane Clown Posse Riddle Box (Explicit)
Album Viewed
Carnival Of Carnage (1992) 8530
Beverly Kills 50187 (1993) 2741
Ringmaster (1994) 8464
Terror Wheel (1994) 2739
Great Milenko (1995) 17187
Riddle Box (Explicit) (1995) 8713
Tunnel Of Love (1996) 4772
Forgotten Freshness Vol. 1 (1998) 4431
Forgotten Freshness Vol. 2 (1998) 5720
Amazing Jeckel Brothers (1999) 11878
Bizzar (2000) 8594
Bizzar (Explicit) (2000) 7052
Psychopathics from Outer Space (2000) 9485
Dog Beats ( ) 3230
Lyric Viewed
Intro ( Riddle Box ) 577
Riddle Box 628
The Show Must Go On 631
Chicken Huntin' (Slaughterhouse mix) 769
Toy Box 620
Cemetery Girl 600
Three Rings 532
Headless Boogie 512
Joker's Wild 512
Dead Body Man 601
Lil' Somethin' Somethin' 504
Ol' Evil Eye 476
12 550
The Killing Fields 453
I'm Coming Home 473

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I'm Coming Home


I lived my life in the gutter! And this gutter is who I am!
Take me back home to my gutter, and that's where I won't ever leave
again!

Hey! I'm comin' home, home to the criminals and crooks,
Home to the gangbangers shootin' dirty looks.
Home to the killer cops beatin' down my ass,
Home to my `72 Vallary prayin' it will last.
Past all the rich bitches try'na play me out.
Doggin' on my neighborhood, don't know what it's about.
So now I'm clockin' nuggets, never hangin' with the rich.
I'd rather hang out with the crookeds at the party store, bitch!
Gimme Coney, dawg, with a little smog,
Cuz it tastes better than the poisonous fog.
Seen it from the sewers in my slummy neighborhood.
But the ghetto got love and the love is all good
So I don't give a fuck about your mansion by the lake.
You can suck my dingaling until your neck breaks.
Cuz all I wanna do is hang with the zombies in the zone.
Break out with the Faygo. I'm comin' home.

(chorus):
Home to the creatures, home to the crooks,
Home to the fools readin' witchcraft books,
Home to the monsters roamin' the land,
I wanna come home but ya don't understand.

Bitch, I'm comin home, and I'm not alone.
Jokers and freaks and the dead body bones.
Every single thing that ya never wanna see,
Add it all together and ya got me!
Ah, Nobody give a fuck about your punk ass rules.
Keystone coppers and your hypocrite schools.
I'd much rather lay around the streets and the gutter,
And make dirty phone calls to your rich mother.
Put up last midnight and I'm wakin' up the dead.
And we playin' kickball with sombody's head.
We go skinny-dippin' in the barrels of toxic waste,
After that, I pour myself a little taste.
So tell your mother that she's nothin' but a fat bitch,
And all my homies don't care if the hoe's rich.
Somebody out here, please let me know if there's a phone,
I need to call my mother, and tell her I'm comin' home.

(chorus)

I'm comin' home. Chicken, chicken bone.
Sugar plumb wishes and Ice cream cones.
All these fake people sayin' hi to one another.
Then they sit around and talk shit about each other.

To be continued...

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