[*bell rings as kids talk in background*]
[*gunshots fire and a woman shrieks*]

[Bizzy ad libs for 14 seconds]

[Bizzy Bone]
I don't spread no strong message of violence nobody silence me quiet
Gunshots start riots so do children, fry them little boys don't try it
KILL 'EM! Don't put it on crossroads, put it on yo' lost souls
And fuck the world, those little girls in Jonesboro died all alone
Down in Arkansas woods, little Mitchell strapped up with ammo
Do they know really what he's thinkin, the plan is plotted out in land
Morbid be gang bangers hang on corners smokin perfecto's
And I often search for profit but I ain't killed nobody - stop it!
Put it on petro, 7th Sign voted for deathrow
And the death note read "Bye-bye baby, Debbie tell me did he die crazy?"
Baby let's go, to the parents to the preacher to the pastor
And I ain't no Marilyn Manson, I'm a rapper, thugologist in the rapture
I wouldn't chance it, I got children myself, and I watch their well-being
Demons seep under me breathin see me help me and I ain't dreamin
And I ain't dreamin, and I ain't dreamin {*echoes*}
Murda mo, murda mo, mudra mo, murda mo, murda mo, murda mo
Murda mo, murda mo, murda mo, murda mo, mudra mo, murda mo
Murda mo, murda mo, mudra mo, murda mo

[ad libs for 7 seconds]
[Bizzy Bone]
I stand in front of the congress with these runaway slaves of justice
Blame it on Bone Thug, music and abusive fo' fathers, don't touch it
When I was 12, I slept in buckets, reminisce juvy back in Columbus
In Cleveland I'm poppin these n***as at 14, and I loved it
Adrenaline rush for the get back, gang war 99th n***as, Fred Ward
America's most wanted I'm haunted by sinister n***as that paid for it
And Mr. Mitchell Johnson you's a grown man, with no soul
Fry him at 15, years old and heaven will rain down and unload
Fold with the murder mo, murder mo, the devil'll hear you moan
Heard him go, heard him go, little Mitchell dead and gone
From the mob boss, B.B. Gambini, Nina Ross, in the crossroads
Die off little demon off those, and assistant this distant fry
But they was kids right, n***a these boys is killas that'll split your wig
And of course they should die as if they were motherfuckin big, you dig

[ad libs for 18 seconds]

[Bizzy Bone]
I don't blame the babies, it's the lawyers but I'm royal legally unfoil
Little Mitchell listenin to this serpent uncoil, pay attention boy
'Member an eye for an eye, go on and kill and you soon will die
Give up the ghost, give up the ghost, fry, fry
These are the signs of, time passin us by
Suspected of felony keep, tellin me they wanted me dead or alive
Heaven'll move me right - fo' sho', movin in Heaven'z Movie
Literal cuckoo kids in the 'burbs, shootin for the youth
For the world is absurd, blurry o critical thoughts of my fury
With tongues of double-edge swords, surely have faith in God
But I'm worried lookin at the lions in the crossroads
Hit 'em up with my crossbow, glory to Jesus I love my mob
Break 'em off dawg! Lethally injected he's just a kid
Aw he should die like he motherfuckin big, can you dig?
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust (burn, burn)
I said we, bust if we must I said we, bust if we must (burn, burn)
And I say Michael Carneal (burn, burn)
Luke Woodham (burn, burn)
And Kip Kinkel (burn, burn)
And Kip Kinkel (burn, burn)
And put these headphones on and let me murder you (burn, burn) like you murdered your mom (burn, burn)

[A LOT of ad libs to the end]