Текст песни LL Cool J - Homicide
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На этой странице находится текст песни LL Cool J - Homicide, а также перевод песни и видео или клип.
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This for my man yo, word up "I got a 187 on the corner of Farmers boulevard in Linden." "Uh, drug related?" "The usual." I don't mean this in a disrespectful way But Columbine happens in the ghetto every day When the shit goes down why'all ain't got nothing to say He kicked the old lady's door in, threw her on the floor Choked her to death so she don't scream no more He need some white chocolate, he feel it in his bones He heard she refinanced and got a bank loan He used to mow the lawn, take the garbage out Now she in the closet wit a sock in her mouth Copped a chain, copped some crills Crack pipe in his windpipe, twisting like a drill Run around fronting, buying his men's kicks Gassed a broad up so she can help her rent a whip The other killer peeped him out flashing a knot A well known murderer, check the ill plot Call up Corey Buns, get him on the block Niggas gotta eat, plus he front a lot He came through, straight strip search He said I'm coming back, and I'ma put in work Niggas told him, hey yo, leave that shit alone But pride mixed with crack, had him in a zone Prepared for more shit than Depends Eyes bloodshot through a Cardier lens Niggas said Buns came through looking strange Yeah, Buns won't stay in his lane Aight, Buns want ghetto fame And caught two in the Ukraine at point blank range It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide I don't mean this in a disrespectful way But Columbine happens in the ghetto every day When the shit goes down why'all ain't got nothing to say Jamaican cat, real treacherous Used to smuggle burners up from Texas Had the ill crib out in Rosedale Took the money from the trunk and copped a fish scale Chinese Jamaican, real pretty nigga Love puffin blunts, throwing bodies in the river One of the illest niggas that the world ever saw Used to take loaded nines and throw 'em on the floor He was from Brooklyn, and I don't know the block I met him at the flicks he commented on my rocks We rolled back to back, while I was slinging raps He was slinging crack, I was seventeen fascinated by the stacks Running with dangerous niggas and packing gats Uh, the shit thrill me, looking so clean, and living so filthy I heard his right hand man disappeared They found his bike in the street somewhere Conspiracy theories, niggas talking shit Small world, I was close to his right hand man's chick She kept beeping him he never called back When they found him in the trunk his body was jet black Pretty Jamaican kept doing his thing Him and his older brother got caught up in a sting Out on bail, pressure by the feds, he caught seven in the head What goes around, comes back around Nigga rest in peace when they lay ya down "Uh, central, your assistance is requested we have a major crisis here Mrs. Winthrop's cat is stuck in a tree." "Roger, a squad car is on the way." It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide I don't mean this in a disrespectful way But Columbine happens in the ghetto every day When this shit goes down y'all ain't got nothing to say "Central, the cat has been rescued." In the ghetto black men are dying at alarming rates Walking the street is like entering a sweepstakes You never know if you goin' win or lose We walk around feeling confused and totally abused Can't front, I'ma millionaire living like a king Still feigning for that shrimp, fried rice and chicken wings Still feigning for the vibe, only the ghetto bring Pumping songs of pain only real niggas sing Queens finest, but there's one minus The bodies on the battlefield that got left behind us I'm sick and tired of going to wakes 'cause niggas never look the same in the casket It's bugged out, they skin look like plastic I shed tears, but use shades to mask it "Mr. Media", where was you at when my man died When it was classified a drug related homicide It's like until the killer hit the suburbs I ain't hear nothing, not a word "Mr. Media", help us shed light on these homicides Not just Columbine, but all the time It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide It's a, homicide, just a homicide Смотрите также:
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Я устал от того, чтобы побудить
Потому что ниггеры никогда не выглядят одинаково в шкатулке
Это истекает, они похожи на пластик
Я пролил слезы, но использую оттенки, чтобы замаскировать их
"Мистер СМИ", где ты был, когда умер мой мужчина
Когда это было классифицировано, убийство, связанное с наркотиками
Это как до тех пор, пока убийца не попадет в пригород
Я ничего не слышу, ни слова
«Мистер СМИ», помогите нам пролить свет на эти убийства
Не только Колумбин, но все время
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
Это убийство, просто убийство
