Body Count Lyrics
and I watch T.V. and I wonder what it would be liketo live someplace like, you know, the Cosby show,Ozzie and Harriet, you know, wherecops come and got your cat outta the treeall your friends died of old age,But you see, I live in South Central Los Angeles and unfortunately...SHIT AIN'T LIKE THAT! IT'S REAL FUCKED UP!Goddamn what a brotha gotta doto get a message throughto the red, white and blue?What I gotta diebefore you realizeI was a brotha with open eyes?The world's insanewhile you drink champagneand I'm livin' in black rain.You try to ban the A.K.,I got ten of 'em stashedwith 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 you'd doif a kid got killed on the way to schoolor a cop shot your kid in the backyard.Shit would hit the fan, muthafuckaand 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 muthafuckasto South Central.Ha ha.YeahFuck that.I hear it every night,another gunfight,the tension mounts,on with the Body Count.Last weekend thirty-seven kids killed in gang warfare,in my backyard.No!No!No!Yo, Ernie C., take these muthafuckas home.Yeah.Yeah, we in the house, Body Count fools, 1991 muthafuckas.I hear it every night,another gunfight,the tension mounts,on with the Body Count.Goddamn what a brotha gotta doto get a message throughto the red, white and you?What I gotta die before you realizeI was a nigga with open eyes?The world's insanewhile you drink champagneand I'm livin' in black rain,don't you hear the gunsyou stupid, dumb, dick suckin', bum politicians.Tell us what to do... Fuck you!Tell us what to do... Fuck you!The tension mounts...
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