Tonalité : B minor
Verse 1
Am
G
Am
This for my man yo...
word up
G
Am
[Radio transmission] "I got a 187 on the corner of
Verse 2
Farmers
boulevard in Linden."
G
Am
"Uh, drug related?"
Verse 3
"The usual."
Am
G
I don't mean this in a disrespectful way
Am
But Columbine happens in the
G
Am
ghetto every day
When the shit goes down y'all
G
Am
aint got nothing to say
Verse 4
Am
[Verse 1] He kicked
the old lady's door in,
G
Am
threw her on the floor
Choked her to death so she
G
Am
don't scream no more
He need some white chocolate,
G
Am
he feel it in his bones
He heard she refinanced and got
a bank loan
He used to mow the lawn,
G
take the garbage out
Am
Now she in the closet wit a
G
Am
sock in her mouth
Copped a chain,
G
Am
copped some crills
Crack pipe in his windpipe,
twistin like a drill
Run around frontin,
G
buyin his mens kicks
Am
G
Gassed a broad up so she can help
Am
her rent a whip
The other killer peeped him
G
Am
out flashin a knot
A well known murderer, check the ill plot
Call up Corey Buns,
G
get him on the block
Am
G
Am
Niggas gotta eat, plus he front alot
G
Am
He came through, straight strip search
He said I'm comin back,
and I'ma put in work
Niggas told him,
G
Am
ayo leave that shit alone
But pride mixed with crack,
G
Am
had him in a zone
G
Am
Prepared for more shit than De pends
Eyes bloodshot through a Cardier lens
Niggas said Buns came
G
through lookin strange
Am
G
Am
Yeah, Buns won't stay in his lane
G
Aight, Buns want ghetto fame
Am
And caught two in the Ukraine at point
blank range
G
Am
G
Verse 5
Am
G
Am
G
It's
Am
G
a, Homicide,
Am
G
Am
just a Homicide [8X]
G
I don't mean this in a disrespectful way But
Verse 6
Am
Columbine happens in
the ghetto every day
G
When the shit goes down y'all
Am
aint got nothing to say
Verse 7
Am
[Verse 2]
G
Jamaician cat, real treacherous
Am
G
Am
Used to smuggle burners up from Texas
G
Had the ill crib out in Rosedale
Am
Took the money from the trunk
and copped a fishscale
G
Chinese Jamacian, real pretty nigga
Am
Love puffin blunts,
G
Am
throwin bodies in the river
C
G
One of the illest niggas that
Am
the world ever saw
Used to take loaded nines and throw
'em on the floor
He was from Brooklyn,
G
and I don't know the block
Am
I met him at the flicks he commented
on my rocks
G
We rolled back to back,
Am
while I was slingin raps
He was slingin crack,
G
I was seventeen fascinated by the stacks
Am
G
Runnin with dangerous nig
Am
gas and packin gats
G
Am
Uh, the shit thrill me, lookin so clean,
and livin so filthy
G
I heard his right hand man disappeared
Am
They found his bike in the
G
Am
street somewhere
G
Am
Conspiracy theories, niggas talkin shit
Small world, I was close to his right
hand man's chick
She kept beepin him
G
Am
he never called back
When they found him in the trunk
G
Am
his body was jet black
G
Am
Pretty Jamacian kept doin his thing
Him and his older brother got
caught up in a sting
G
Out on bail, pressure by the feds,
Am
G
he caught seven in the head
Am
G
What goes around, comes back around
Am
Nigga rest in peace when they lay
G
ya down
Verse 8
[Radio transmission] "Uh, central,
Am
your assistance is requested we have a major crisis here
G
Am
Mrs. Winthrop's cat is
stuck in a tree."
G
Am
G
"Roger, a squad car is
Am
G
on the way."
Am
It's
Verse 9
a, Homicide,
just a Homicide [4X]
G
I don't mean this in a disrespectful way But
Verse 10
Am
Columbine happens in
G
Am
the ghetto every day
G
When this shit goes down y'all aint got
Am
nothing to say
[Radio transmission] "Central, the cat has been
rescued."
Verse 11
[Verse 3]
Am
In the ghetto black men are dy
G
ing at alarming rates
Am
G
Walkin the street is like entering
Am
a sweepstakes
G
You never know if you gon win or lose
Am
We walk around feelin confused
and totally abused
Can't front,
G
I'ma millionaire livin like a king
Am
Still feenin for that shrimp,
G
Am
fried rice and chicken wings
Still feenin for the vibe,
G
Am
only the ghetto bring
Pumpin songs of pain only
real niggas sing
Queens finest,
G
Am
but there's one minus
The bodies on the battlefield
that got left behind us
G
I'm sick and tired of going to wakes
Am
Cuz niggas never look the same
in the casket
It's bugged out,
G
they skin look like plastic
Am
G
I shed tears, but use shades to mask it
Am
"Mr. Media",
G
Am
where was you at when my man died
When it was classified a drug
related homicide
G
It's like until the killer hit the suburbs
Am
G
I aint hear nothing, not a word
Am
"Mr. Media",
G
Am
help us shed light on these hom icides
Not just Columbine,
but all the time
G
Verse 12
Am
G
Am
G
It's a, Homicide, just a Homicide [8X]
Am
Outro 1
G
Am
G
Am
G
Am
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Am
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G
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