Coming home
Working late
Driving tired
Asked me where I was going then said I was lying
What could I do?
From the big bad boys in blue
Pulled me real close and then told me

Put your hands up
High in the air
Or we’ll shoot
You right in ya head
Don’t speak
Not a sound
You’ll be
Dead (dead, dead, dead) in the ground

On the hood
Face smashed up like a rat
Called for backup, who knows when he’ll attack
One word, threw me right to the floor
He said, “Don't make me tell you again, boy”
Don't make me tell you again

Put your hands up
High in the air
Or we’ll shoot
You right in ya head
Don’t speak
Not a sound
You’ll be
Dead (dead, dead, dead) in the ground
Dead in the ground
Dead in the ground

Murderers
You’re all a bunch of murderers
Murderers