Body Count
Body Count
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7.28 МБ
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192 кбит/c
Длительность
5:18
153
| Добавлена 1 сентября 2011 пользователем Iron Man |
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Текст песни Body Count
You know sometimes I sit at home, you know,
And I watch t.v. and I wonder what it would be like
To live someplace like, you know, the cosby show,
Ozzie and harriet, you know, where
Cops come and got your cat outta the tree
All your friends died of old age,
But you see, I live in south central los angeles and unfortunately...
Shit aint like that! its real fucked up!
Goddamn what a brotha gotta do
To get a message through
To the red, white and blue?
What I gotta die
Before you realize
I was a brotha with open eyes?
The worlds insane
While you drink champagne
And Im livin in black rain.
You try to ban the a.k.,
I got ten of em stashed
With a case of hand grenades.
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
You know what youd do
If a kid got killed on the way to school
Or a cop shot your kid in the backyard.
Shit would hit the fan, muthafucka
And it would hit real hard.
I hear it every night, another gunfight,
The tension mounts,
On with the body count.
Yo, beatmaster v, take these muthafuckas
And I watch t.v. and I wonder what it would be like
To live someplace like, you know, the cosby show,
Ozzie and harriet, you know, where
Cops come and got your cat outta the tree
All your friends died of old age,
But you see, I live in south central los angeles and unfortunately...
Shit aint like that! its real fucked up!
Goddamn what a brotha gotta do
To get a message through
To the red, white and blue?
What I gotta die
Before you realize
I was a brotha with open eyes?
The worlds insane
While you drink champagne
And Im livin in black rain.
You try to ban the a.k.,
I got ten of em stashed
With a case of hand grenades.
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
Tell us what to do... fuck you!
You know what youd do
If a kid got killed on the way to school
Or a cop shot your kid in the backyard.
Shit would hit the fan, muthafucka
And it would hit real hard.
I hear it every night, another gunfight,
The tension mounts,
On with the body count.
Yo, beatmaster v, take these muthafuckas
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