Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Terror Era , by - Samuel T. Herring. Release date: 15.12.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
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 |