Social Studies

[*bell rings as kids talk in background*] [*gunshots fire and a woman shrieks*] [Bizzy ad libs for 14 seconds] [Bizzy Bone] I don't spread no strong message of violence nobody silence me quiet Gunshots start riots so do children, fry them little boys don't try it KILL 'EM! Don't put it on crossroads, put it on yo' lost souls And fuck the world, those little girls in Jonesboro died all alone Down in Arkansas Woods, little Mitchell strapped up with ammo Do they know really what he's thinkin, the plan is plotted out in land Morbid be gang bangers hang on corners smokin perfecto's And I often search for profit but I ain't killed nobody - stop it! Put it on petro, 7th Sign voted for deathrow And the death note read "Bye-bye baby, Debbie tell me did he die crazy?" Baby let's go, to the parents to the preacher to the pastor And I ain't no Marilyn Manson, I'm a rapper, thugologist in the rapture I wouldn't chance it, I got children myself, and I watch their well-being Demons seep under me breathin see me help me and I ain't dreamin And I ain't dreamin, and I ain't dreamin {*echoes*} Murda mo, murda mo, mudra mo, murda mo, murda mo, murda mo Murda mo, murda mo, murda mo, murda mo, mudra mo, murda mo Murda mo, murda mo, mudra mo, murda mo [ad libs for 7 seconds] [Bizzy Bone] I stand in front of the congress with these runaway slaves of justice Blame it on Bone Thug, music and abusive fo' fathers, don't touch it When I was 12, I slept in buckets, reminisce juvy back in Columbus In Cleveland I'm poppin these niggas at 14, and I loved it Adrenaline rush for the get back, gang war 99th niggas, Fred Ward America's most wanted I'm haunted by sinister niggas that paid for it And Mr. Mitchell Johnson you's a grown man, with no soul Fry him at 15, years old and heaven will rain down and unload Fold with the murder mo, murder mo, the devil'll hear you moan Heard him go, heard him go, little Mitchell dead and gone From the mob boss, B.B. Gambini, Nina Ross, in the crossroads Die off little demon off those, and assistant this distant fry But they was kids right, nigga these boys is killas that'll split your wig And of course they should die as if they were motherfuckin big, you dig [ad libs for 18 seconds] [Bizzy Bone] I don't blame the babies, it's the lawyers but I'm royal legally unfoil Little Mitchell listenin to this serpent uncoil, pay attention boy 'Member an eye for an eye, go on and kill and you soon will die Give up the ghost, give up the ghost, fry, fry These are the signs of, time passin us by Suspected of felony keep, tellin me they wanted me dead or alive Heaven'll move me right - fo' sho', movin in Heaven'z Movie Literal cuckoo kids in the 'burbs, shootin for the youth For the world is absurd, blurry o critical thoughts of my fury With tongues of double-edge swords, surely have faith in God But I'm worried lookin at the lions in the crossroads Hit 'em up with my crossbow, glory to Jesus I love my mob Break 'em off dawg! Lethally injected he's just a kid Aw he should die like he motherfuckin big, can you dig? Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust (burn, burn) I said we, bust if we must I said we, bust if we must (burn, burn) And I say Michael Cornero (burn, burn) Lukewood hell (burn, burn) And Ken Pico (burn, burn) And Kiff Kinko (burn, burn) And put these earphones on and let me murder (burn, burn) We like to relax your mind (burn, burn) [A LOT of ad libs to the end]