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 AIN'T LIKE THAT! IT'S 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 world's insane While you drink champagne And I'm 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 you'd 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 To South Central.
Ha ha. Yeah Fuck 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 do To get a message through To the red, white and you? What I gotta die before you realize I was a nigga with open eyes? The world's insane While you drink champagne And I'm livin' in black rain, Don't you hear the guns You 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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