Promoe Fast Food World Lyrics

Verse 1:
It's all bloody, covered in shame/
the slaughterhouse where four number's your name/
I hate this place, the urine, the pain/
they try to clean but can't get ride of the stains/
So full of life, next minute she dead/
I never could figure this blood spillin' in vain/
and they call it my work, yo the give me the blame/
for more than X million a insane killings a day/
with machine's sent straight from hell/
stabbin' your face Norman Bate's motel/
Death traps and kidnaps, cows and pigs that/
lay with open on the floor with big rats/
runnin' around, germs havin' a field day/
Bacterias all over the steelblade/
sprendin' me throught the meat industry/
I'm death I bet you're not pleased to meet me, it's...

Chorus:
Murder/ Suppolín' bloody meat for a fast food world/
(repet)

Verse2:
We keep 'em comin' no time rest, now/
Here's your knife, cut 'em up by the chest, now/
Upside down so the blood run out/
After that clean it out till the guts come out/
Now, there's no end I've been begun at eight/
seventeen days straight I'm always runnin' late/
I'm workin' overtime, but I'm underpaid/
the campany treatin' my like f*ckin' slave/
Need to little cash so i can run away/
but the light at the end of tunnel ain't/
visible, I'm too tried got a stomach ache/
Can't concetrate, it must've been sumth'n I ate/
Then he suddenly slipped and he slit his wrist/
Broke his neck in the fall midst the shit and piss/
Thinkin' 'bout his little sis' and the bittre twist:/ now he's dying like campany's sins were his/
While his boss a real Mr. Slick/
dismissed the union that could've ride the risk/
but he had to have peple workin' triple shifts/
Ani't no accident call it what itrealy is, it's...

Chorus:
Murder/ suppolín' sickness in a fast food world/
And is a murder/ supply coruption in a fast food world/
I see murder...

Verse 3:
Steppin' through the golden arches/
where murder is neatly packed and heart rates/
increase with the grease smarin' on my domepice/
Extra chees ! I'm takin' that to go please/
Cloggin' up my artories, part of my wanna leaove/
My apology is simply that time is robbin' me/
Nobody see the commodites is still victims/
So is the one buyin' the shiie from hell's kitchen/
Stunblin' to the ground, pains the abdomin/
paralizin' his body like something sttabin' him/
but the doctor's found nothing wrong when examining
Two days later his wife came home paniking/
Yo, she faund him on the couch with the remote control/
hangin' from his cold hand they just spoke on the
phone/
The autopsy show it was the E. coli/
Bad luck with bad some meat? Nah, it's probably...

Chorus:
Murder/ suppolín' sickness in the fast food world/
I see murder/
supplyin' poisen in the fast food world...

Outtro:
Well, nothin' with the eye, mouth or teeth/
Rasta no eat/
and I'm not jokin'/
Rasta no meel/
Nothin' with the eye, mouth or teeth/
Rasta no eat/
and I'm not jokin'/
No, no, no