Take a look inside the darkness, journey with an insane first-degree murderer. The little nigga in this world so big and bold, the streets'll see ya, and make you fold in the cold. Off to the road of the wasteland--there we can vision jail (...?...) 'till forces of ghetto kill. And knowin' everyday it's the same old thang, goin' and givin' up (?) the flesh. Sure his head's better roll to the next to test. It's 95th and we live for the lick. We stressed to good on the (..?..) Stack, continue right turn, getting kinda hungry, back on the twin, 10-5. There's a (?) in the trailer, grab the grub, niggas sell and bail. Ain't been gone ten minutes and somebody done crossed the line, damn here comes the squadron.
Come around my way, if you wanna see cop stories.
Tales of the hood, way off in the woods of the wasteland. Times of our survival.
Times of our survival.
We breed in these streets, bring them heat, pump pump. Police proceed to release empty shells. He yells, "Freeze!" It ain't so easy bringing soldiers to they knees, instead we makin' niggas bleed. Called a pall-bearer to relieve me of the duty of fatal cop-killin'. Embrace violence in total silence. Don't fault me for performin', participatin'. Each lie in a coffin. Dancin' to the rhythm of the rain, draggin' coffins while I'm walkin' through the asylum of my brain. Institutionalized and strivin' through this. Computerized my mentality, program go insane. Harass me about my dress code (..?..) they called and they actually catch me, intrudin' all over my threshold. It's been instantly, that more come up and die, strangulate 'em. I'm a (?) his (?), feelin' heavily sedated all the while, premeditated upon the outcome of my destination, congregate amongst killas. And it ain't no procrastination to be facin' the nation on a one-way trip to total annihilation, obliterated.
All this time alone in coffins, never could find a way to phone back home. I lost my mind somewhere along the line of drug abuse and cheap wine. High, just sittin', chillin', waitin' to die. I guess I'll ride, just for the hell of the journey. Disturbing thoughts, they cloud my mind. We live so low. We goin' for broke in this dirty game filled with no dreams and lies. I see devils in disguise. I hope you croak and choke from my slug off in your throat. It's time they hang from ropes, ridin' boats. Locs upon my eyes so you won't see the tears when we reminisce on how you got killed. It's plain as day: you made that bed you lay. Ain't no more of them cotton fields, see now you stay six feet underneath so that put you deep inside that grave. Soon as that last trumpet sound, you well off on your way to Hell, where you won't be found. You won't be found. My sight's so blurred I can't even see in front of me. To keep my thought process, try to separate the night from the day. Can't escape my evil way. Put the gauge in a safer place, under lock and key, cause ain't no tellin' when I might be feelin' wanna run around inside of me. Hunt a nigga down surroundin' me. Engulf my heart and die. You said my sanity, I just lost it. Them situations taught me how to pray. Now there you go. Gone to taunt my soul. You safe for now and you rolled with the worst of the killers. We so for-realer, with the steel, and very quick to kill ya.
"Cop Stories" Lyrics
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WasteLand Lyrics: The Art of Bone.
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