Video musicale

Video musicale

Crediti

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Biohazard
Biohazard
Performer
Billy Graziadei
Billy Graziadei
Guitar
Bobby Hambel
Bobby Hambel
Lead Guitar
Danny Schuler
Danny Schuler
Drums
Evan Seinfeld
Evan Seinfeld
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Billy Graziadei
Billy Graziadei
Songwriter
Bobby Hambel
Bobby Hambel
Songwriter
Danny Schuler
Danny Schuler
Songwriter
Evan Seinfeld
Evan Seinfeld
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Biohazard
Biohazard
Producer
Steve Ett
Steve Ett
Mixing Engineer
Wharton Tiers
Wharton Tiers
Producer
Bryan Thatcher
Bryan Thatcher
Creative Director
Laura Michaels
Laura Michaels
Creative Director
Lyor Cohen
Lyor Cohen
Executive Producer
Mitchell Valentine
Mitchell Valentine
Creative Director

Testi

It's a motherfuckin' homicide, just deserts
A shotgun pointed right where it hurts
From the inside, the ones you can trust
You got connected to a serious bust
You thought you were a hustler, a boy that was rude
But now you're in the dirt, can of underground wormfood
Stupid motherfucker, you thought you would last
Well took the wrong path, now your name is in the past
Another fuckin' lowlife connected to the first
A crooked cop on the take, nothing could be worse
Twenty-one gun salute, the widow lays the wreath
The whole police department covered up he was a thief
Yeah the city's finest, caught in deepest shit
Never thought the day would come, bang, a fuckin' hit
You call yourself the finest in the city, huh?
For scum like you, I have no fucking pity
Pushing and scamming, distribute all your poison
You call yourself a man, well you're nothing but a boy, son
A real man works hard, starves to climb the ropes
Not killing for money, on the corner selling dope
Money isn't everything, I guess it was to you
Did you control your own life or greed controlled you?
For the lives that you destroyed, so morally depraved
For the people you left grieving, I spit on your grave
So it seems, this is the system, and I'm sorry to say
Dealers pay the cops to turn and look the other way
Everybody scratches and tries to get ahead
You took the easy way, it is easy being dead
The chamber spins three, grab the trigger then you pull it
The game is called roulette and you just won the bullet
Pushing and scamming, distribute all your poison
You call yourself a man, well you're nothing but a boy, son
A real man works hard, starves to climb the ropes
Not killing for money, on the corner selling dope
Money isn't everything, I guess it was to you
Did you control your own life or greed controlled you?
For the lives that you destroyed, so morally depraved
For the people you left grieving, I spit on your grave
So it seems, this is the system, and I'm sorry to say
Dealers pay the cops to turn and look the other way
On both sides of the law, justice has been done
Not by a judge and jury but by the trigger of a gun
The chamber spins three!
Written by: Billy Graziadei, Bobby Hambel, Danny Schuler, Evan Seinfeld
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