| Johnny was a bad boy
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| He was a juvenile delinquent
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| He had his picture
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| On the wall of every precinct
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| He had a rep for hangin' out with his homies
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| Puffin' on the blunts
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| And sippin' on the 40's
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| But when he spoke
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| Nobody would listen
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| And when he was home
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| His parents, they would diss him
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| They called him a bum
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| A worthless piece of shit
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| So over this he had a fit
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| And now he grabs his bag
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| And heads for the door
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| And walks to the neighborhood
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| Liquor store
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| Pulls out a gat
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| And tells the old man, «Hit the floor»
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| Then breaks open his register drawer
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| Pulls out the money
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| Stuffs it in his pocket
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| Points his pistol
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| Then he starts to cock it
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| The man panicks and the gun goes off
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| Stupid old fool
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| Made Johnny blow his head off
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| But he don’t care
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| 'Cause he was taught
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| It ain’t a crime
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| If ya don’t get caught
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| It ain’t a crime if you don’t get caught
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| That’s how it is homie like it or not
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| Now, comin' out of the store
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| Johnny shot two acpedic Jews
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| When he got home
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| His face was on the news
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| His mom freaked out
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| Told him, «Get the fuck out»
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| That’s when the pigs rolled up
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| So, yo he ducked out
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| He hit the back door
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| Like his name was Carl Lewis
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| Dipped to the pay phone
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| To find out where his crew is
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| He called up his home boy Jose (word up)
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| «Can I come over, my man?»
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| He said, «No way!»
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| The cop- was here
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| He was lookin' all over for ya
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| But I told the pig
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| I didn’t know ya
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| He said, «Cool,
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| pick me up at the school
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| I need a ride 'cause
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| I’m wanted for homicide»
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| Johnny’s got his gun
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| And he’s on the run
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| But he don’t care
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| To him, the shit’s fun
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| Now that he’s an outlaw
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| Sorta like Robin Hood
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| The hard-rock hero
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| Of the whole neighborhood
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| If they catch him
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| He’ll wind up in court, but
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| It ain’t a crime if ya don’t get caught (ha ha)
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| It ain’t a sale if it don’t get bought
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| It ain’t a show if I don’t get paid
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| She ain’t a ho if ya don’t get laid |