ICP (Insane Clown Posse) Toy Box Lyrics
"Oohh, I like... this... toy! Hmm, watch it go..."
"Ay! Ah! Ay! Uh!"
~beep beep beep!~
"We're sorry, but the person you are calling is dead."
I was like 6, I used to get dissed by the chicks.
And everyone would chase me and hit me with bricks,
And rocks and sticks and callin' me names.
And fill my lunchbox with frog brains. Ugh!
When I left school it was much iller.
My daddy was a serial killer, and how about that,
He always made me sit in the back,
With all his dead bodies in my lap. Move!
When I got home, enough of the static,
Hammer and tools and up to the attic.
Never knew any other girls or boys.
Only my toys, toys, toys.
Bang, clang, hammer and twist,
Nobody knows I exist, and I'm pissed.
But I won't be mentally scarred,
Instead I make toys, toys of the graveyard.
Monday, Ring of the bell.
It's all about show and tell. Might as well
Show all of these bastards just what I got.
Yo, check out my toy box.
"Nothin' feels better than a good hardy-har-har. Right boys and girls?"
We got dead bodies everywhere you look.
All the nerds sittin' up front got cooked.
Others start screamin' and makin' a dash.
So I start handin' out toys fast at last.
You like slinkies? We got slinkies.
Only mine like to wrap around your face then stretch, twist, consume,
And whip your body all over the fuckin' room.
So come, one at a time. Open your gift, and what you will find
Is a toy my friend, that you'll never forget.
It's not everyday that you get your skull split.
You like soldiers? We got soldiers, made with rubber and steel.
They're not real. But I wouldn't just toss 'em under yo' bed.
That's how you get a axe to the fo' head.
Oh, and don't let 'em sit around all day.
Come home and find your mom... dead in the hallway.
Cuz they can be nifty, all the toys are shifty (he-he)
In my toy box. (huh?)
"Woooowie, that sure sounds like fun!"
That's not a toy, hey wait a minute.
Don't fuck around, homie, you could lose an eye with it.
That's my double blade razor whip chop jimmy.
And it's mine motherfucker, so gimme gimme.
You like toys? You come to the right place.
Try my little toy mutilatin' mental case.
Wind 'em up and let him go among alla ya.
Then bang! Serial slaughterer!
Your turn, reach in and get lucky.
Oh look, he pulled out a rubber ducky. (squeaka squeaka)
And it make a funny sound, then,
Then BANG! Blew the fingers off his fuckin' hand.
Don't stop, class ain't done yet.
I remember you callin' me pointdex', bookworm brainy,
My aggrivation went into these little creations.
Reach in. You might find somethin' wicked.
Wicked scary, chopping pickaderry.
Off with your head, a robot with a sword.
But now he's lookin' at me, but what for?
"Wa-wait a minute, I made you, get them not me. Wait a minute,
O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-Oh I love this record!...(repeat 5x)
Hahahaha, Hoohoohoo! Yahoo! Turn it off!
Hahahaha, Hoohoohoo! Yahoo! Turn it off! (2x)
O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-Oh I love this record!...
O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-Oh I love this... "Turn it off!"
"Tell me why? Why do you feel that you should still be together with
"Sure. Cccc'mon man, our relationship ain't all weak and shit. Ya know I
mean-I mean just because she's
dead we should just break up or somethin'? FUCK THAT!"
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, listen to me, she's dead man. You gotta move on."
"So what! So she's dead. Does that make you fresher than her?"
"I don't think so! So she don't talk as much... and she really don't move
around a lot. She's still fresh! She's
still fun to be around! Heheh-heheh. You're just predjudice!"
"You're predjudiced against dead people."
"Aw man, you really are one sick bastard, Tommy."
"What the fuck is that? What does that mean?"
"It means Fukoof!"
"Man, you fuckin' lost it."
Thanks to email@example.com for submitting Toy Box Lyrics.