The self-professed “most hated band in the world” have had now-legendary controversial relationships with both Island and Hollywood Records/Disney, but their own Detroit-founded and self-funded Psychopathic Records has done remarkably well and continues to be a successful enterprise, even as the music industry and sales landscape changes around them.
A true American success story, despite the status that is generally associated with their name, ICP still defies the critics and continues to build their fanbase, with numerous platinum and gold releases - despite virtually no mainstream radio or TV airplay.
ICP’s new album, “The Tempest”, debuted at #2 on Billboard magazine’s Independent Album charts (behind that American Idol “indie”, Elliot Yamin) and ICP is currently supporting the album with a world tour (their first in 4 years), along with fellow Psychopathic Records label mates - Twiztid.
I'm Coming Home
ICP Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
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.
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.
Watering the grass, diggin' in they ass,
Try'na make sure they didn't lose any cash.
Workin' hard all you life, and now you're finally rich.
But look at you, you're just another whack bitch! heh.
Call in the slum, that's where the bums,
Murderers, and slaughterers. So that's what I become.
Spare a little change, cuz I just ran outta gas,
Reach for your quarter and I'll stick your fuckin' ass.
Nobody wants to be around the ghetto breed.
The ghetto got each other, and that's all we really need.
So what the fuck I'm doin' down here? I got a land of my own,
Hey, yo, dawg, fuck it, we goin' home.
(chorus)
(chorus)
(chorus)
(chorus)
(chorus)
(chorus)
(group chorus)
(group chorus)
(group chorus w/ fade out)
(group chorus w/ fade out)
The song "I'm Coming Home" by ICP speaks about the struggles of living in poverty-stricken areas and finding a sense of belonging in such places. The lyrics convey a deep yearning for returning to their roots in the gutter, where all they ever knew was life on the streets. The references to the gangbangers, killer cops, and crooks create a sense of danger and unrest that comes with living in such an environment. The lyrics also express a sense of rebellion against society's norms and rules, particularly the wealthy and privileged, who tend to look down upon those from the ghetto. The chorus repeats the phrase "Home to the creatures, home to the crooks, home to the fools reading witchcraft books, home to the monsters roaming the land" reinforcing the idea that the gutter, although it has many vices, is where they feel most at home and understood.
Throughout the song, ICP uses vivid imagery that paints a picture of the ghetto lifestyle. The line "Gimme Coney, dawg, with a little smog, Cuz it tastes better than the poisonous fog" highlights the reality of living in the slums and using whatever resources are available to survive. The line "We go skinny-dippin' in the barrels of toxic waste, After that, I pour myself a little taste" showcases the lack of concern or awareness of the potential health risks that come with living in such an environment. By contrasting this with the "fake people" who are "watering the grass, diggin' in their ass," the song comments on the societal divide between the rich and the poor.
Line by Line Meaning
I lived my life in the gutter! And this gutter is who I am!
My life has been spent in poverty and hardship, and it has molded me into the person I am today.
Take me back home to my gutter, and that's where I won't ever leave again!
I want to return to my roots and never leave them again, to be surrounded by the familiar environment and people that shaped me.
Home to the criminals and crooks, Home to the gangbangers shootin' dirty looks.
I am returning to my old neighborhood, filled with people who may be involved in crime and violence.
Home to the killer cops beatin' down my ass, Home to my '72 Vallary prayin' it will last.
My neighborhood is also home to police brutality and my car, which is important to me, is not safe from harm.
Past all the rich bitches try'na play me out. Doggin' on my neighborhood, don't know what it's about.
Wealthy people who do not understand my background often mock or belittle it.
So now I'm clockin' nuggets, never hangin' with the rich. I'd rather hang out with the crookeds at the party store, bitch!
Instead of pursuing money and associating with wealthy individuals, I choose to spend my time with those who have lived similar lives in my old neighborhood.
Gimme Coney, dawg, with a little smog, Cuz it tastes better than the poisonous fog.
I prefer the familiar taste of coney dogs, even if they come with some pollution, rather than the sanitized, artificial foods of wealthier communities.
Seen it from the sewers in my slummy neighborhood. But the ghetto got love and the love is all good
Even though I have seen the worst parts of my neighborhood and the people who come from it, there is still a sense of community and solidarity.
So I don't give a fuck about your mansion by the lake. You can suck my dingaling until your neck breaks.
I have no interest in the wealthy, and in fact, have disdain for those who flaunt their wealth and status.
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.
I am returning to a neighborhood that many view as filled with dangerous and undesirable people, including those who may have strange interests or practices, and despite others' opinions, I still feel a connection to the neighborhood.
Bitch, I'm comin home, and I'm not alone. Jokers and freaks and the dead body bones.
I am returning to my neighborhood with a sense of camaraderie and shared identity with those who may be seen as outcasts or strange by others.
Ah, Nobody give a fuck about your punk ass rules. Keystone coppers and your hypocrite schools.
I have no respect for regulations, authority figures, or educational systems that do not understand or value my background.
But look at you, you're just another whack bitch! heh. Call in the slum, that's where the bums, Murderers, and slaughterers. So that's what I become.
I view wealthy individuals who are disconnected from their roots as naive or foolish, while I embrace and accept my background, even if others see it as undesirable or dangerous.
The ghetto got each other, and that's all we really need. So what the fuck I'm doin' down here? I got a land of my own, Hey, yo, dawg, fuck it, we goin' home.
I see the value in the community and relationships that come from growing up in a neighborhood such as mine, even if it is not valued by others. However, I also have options outside of this neighborhood, and ultimately choose to return to my roots with my friends.
Contributed by Kaylee G. Suggest a correction in the comments below.