Bizzy Bone - Social Studies lyrics
[Bizzy Bone - Social Studies lyrics]
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
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, BB 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
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 Carneal (burn, burn)
Luke Woodham (burn, burn)
And Kip Kinkel (burn, burn)
And Kip Kinkel (burn, burn)
And put these headphones on and
Let me murder you
(burn, burn) like you murdered
Your mom (burn, burn)
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
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, BB 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
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 Carneal (burn, burn)
Luke Woodham (burn, burn)
And Kip Kinkel (burn, burn)
And Kip Kinkel (burn, burn)
And put these headphones on and
Let me murder you
(burn, burn) like you murdered
Your mom (burn, burn)