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

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