Lyrics Terror Era - Samuel T. Herring, Ezekiel Jackson, Bond St District

Terror Era

Terror Era, dead bodies stacking up in the ghetto like it’s Bim Gazi
Friendly fire take a lot of soldiers out too, but they don’t get away with
murder like the cops do
A cop does what he from the news crew
If ya story ain’t in any nominated news
Don’t shoot!
Heil Hitler, demn ISIS, Boko Haram, Charlie stop when the
terrorists, kill these people in Paris
But murder millions overseas from King in the Congolese
Nobody gives a fuck about no nigga shit
Nigga shit he got a good job with benefits, and he ain’t messing no money over
some nigga shit
They only can see what' yall gave em', and they reported a lie would die
Heil Cesar, freil Buddha, fat Jesus, King Musa and the dirt farmer,
the snake charmer what’s in common?
No comment, where’s the proof?
No comment, no drama no drama, closed borders out to embassy, twelve men
testify against one enemy shrike free, power
centipede, to post a ruler make the movie to a trilogy
Big spenders got the world lock, shell shot pipe bombs blowers grounds pop
Pen drops ground hear us in the happy meal, John East fabricated in the trade
deal lips sealed
Shipping jobs ain’t the problem folks, the problems, the working wages of the
common folk
It’s dominos where while we in a spiderweb, need to extract the spinal fluid
from the dying cell
We Candyland, we trippin' ecstasy and can’t feel can’t feel that' yall feet
blow off the trail
Off the path, no rightnesses for working class
The dying mass watch the screen as the cameras flash
Terror Era, dead bodies, I meditate with like I’m rapping couldn’t kill him
with crack so hook him up with this xans, percs and molly tell him welcome to
the party
Looking at the signs on a boarded up house, 'vote for me please I’ve been
running my mouth'
Police killed the boy now the city a target for the media market
Broadcast the heartless
Welcome to reality the rich don’t sleep, I mean the bees don’t weep,
I mean the bees quoted bring the neighborhoods sweet, that sweet of their feet
and hold em' for
He still got a bullet that’s loged in, trump’d up charge’s, his fan fighting
the hardest no charges for the squadron
I’ve been waiting outside for the march in