Body Count - Last Days
Last days,
last days.
As I stare off the stage and try to
understand why you feel that I am
someone you can id with, how?
When you and I come from two totally
polar opposite lifestyles.
Under normal cicumstances I would be
waking you and your rich parents up at gunpoint.
Demanding the combination to the wall safe.
While your little sister screams suffering
from pistol-whipped pain.
Or looking back at you in the courtroom
filled with absolutely none of my peers.
Why are you here?
Is that some voyeuristic bullshit?
See black men sing?
Or maybe, just maybe, you've been sub-
jected to so many audio drive by's and
gang shootings that you youself have
become numb to the pain like me.
And you--check this out--have become
insane from overdoses of reality.
Well stomach this, at the rate we're
going right now white boy, yeah you, you
and I will die holding each other's throats.
That's real, world's at war, we're at war.
Check yourself, don't be me check your goddamn self.
It's going down 1997, see the light, red
lasers rip through my neighborhood at night,
time is short,
Homicide is the number one sport.
Last days,
last days,
these are the last days.
So now that all the reality's soaked, I and
you start to reanalyze every word I ever said,
am I a racist?
Or am I just someone who tells how the fuck it is?
Well the truth of the thing isI was raised on crime.
Walking through an environment so filled with so much hate,
honestly I do not feel that you are able
to comprehend the magnitude of the evil.
But trip this, there were no white faces there.
Just black on black genocide.
The only white men there were the cops
that showed up late in the fourth
to outline the teeenaged bodies in chalk.
So who do I hate? Do I hate you? Do I hate myself?
Or possibly am I intelligent enough to only hold
the conditions of the ghetto itself to blame?--Not!
Who creates the conditions?
Who stops affirmative action and welfare?
Who loves the 3 strikes law?
Didn't see `em at the Million Man March,
Or the three hundred and fifty-thousand man march,
let your daddy tell it.
There's a lotta lies out there, what side ya on?
Armageddon is near,
I'm the fourth rider of the apocalypse, recognize game.
Last days,
these are the last days.
Last days,
these are the last days.
Last days,
these are the last days.
Last days.
[But maybe I'm wrong, maybe everything is ok.
Maybe we're all just gonna get along.
Maybe I'm trippin, maybe life is perfect--yeah right]
chorus
I hate you, you hate me, and what does that equal?
It equals nothing, and that's exeactly what we're gonna have,
nothing, if we don't make a change soon,
and who I am to tell you anything?
I ain't noboby but a brother from South Central,
who's had the opportunity to go around the world,
and I found out that we're all not really that different.
Racism is the number one enemy one earth.
There's only one race, the human race,
and if we don't get it together soon,
this song is true.
We are all living in the last days.