Lyrics: Chicken Huntin’ (slaughterhouse Mix)
Album: Riddle Box (explicit)
Artist: Insane Clown Posse
 

Well i’m headed down the southern trail, i’m goin’ chicken huntin’.
Choppin’ red neck chicken necks i ain’t sayin’ nothin’
To the hillbilly, stick my barrel in his eye, boom-shaka, boom-shaka,
Hair chunks in the sky.
Why? i, never liked chicken pot pie or the chopped chicken on rye.
Tell mr. billy bob i’m a cut his neck up
Slice, poke, chop-chop, stab, cut.
“what can you do with a drunken hillbilly?”
Cut his fuckin’ eyes out, and feed ’em to his aunt nilly.
Willie, willie chicken neck. chicken huntin’ gotta love it.
Hit him with the 12 gauge >fucken, chicken nugget<.
Layed out all over the grass. bet his little hound dog’ll eat ’em up
Fast.

(pre-chorus):
Last as long as you can, my man,
Cuz when that chicken head hits the fan you got:
Blood, guts, fingers and toes. (w/ echoes)
Blood, guts, fingers and toes. (w/ echoes)
Blood, guts, fingers and toes. (w/ echoes)
Sittin’ front row at the chicken show, so…
(end prechorus)

(chorus):
“who’s goin’ chicken huntin?”
“we’s goin’ chicken huntin’.”
“who’s goin’ chicken huntin?”
“we’s goin’ chicken huntin’.”
“who’s goin’ chicken huntin?”
“we’s goin’ chicken huntin’.”
“cut a motherfuckin’ chicken now, “
“right!”
(chorus)

Lemme get a chicken sandwich, with manwich, ah,
Feel the red on a chicken neck.
Choppin up hella yeah, billy bob billy
Cuz i chop motherfuckin’ red necks silly.
Peeped in your yard tell me what did i see?
I seen a chicken boy, fuckin’ this sheep. i said,
“mister, mister, what the fuck you tryin’ to do?”
Badau-bad-a-badau-badau-bau
Barrels in your mouth, bullets to your head,
The back of your neck’s all over the shed.
Boom-shaka-boom, chop, chop, bang,
I’m 2 dope, and it ain’t no thing
To cut a chicken, triggers clickin’
Blow off his head but his feet still kickin’

(pre-chorus)
(chorus)

Went to kentucky, i got lucky,
Met this hogcallin’ bitch named blocky.
Ridin’ on a chicken, milkin’ a sow.
Hittin’ switches in a drop-top, low-ride tractor. wow.
Red neck fella, moon-shine sella,
Hangin’ by his neck bone. chicken bone’s locked in the cella’,
Yella’ bellied chicken plucka’. you red neck fucka!

(chorus)

Rich bitch!
Yeah! yeah! yeah!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Uh! (echo)

Interview

“hello! how ya doin? i’m here with the insane clown posse, icp. how you
Guys doin?”
“bblblblblblblbl!!”
“well, uh, ok… i understand that you guys are from detroit.”
“wwaaaaaaaahh!”
“uh, yeah, ok. why don’t ah- why don’t you tell us something about the
Group?”
“burrrrrrp!”
“awright, awright… any long term goals?”
“ayayaiyaiyaiyaiyai!”
“sure, yeah, yeah… how ’bout ah, solo projects? any solo stuff to look
Forward to?”
“ha! ha ha-ha!”
“well… well, ok, ok. well, ah, thanks for coming by and, ah, we look
Forward to seeing you again, uhu.
Thanks a lot! bye-bye!”