Murder of a Teenage Life
Mos Def
Man, what was the young blood name? Funk Crush
Young blood just hungry
It's no glamour, it's no glory
It's no joke no game
It's murder everyday, murder (Boogeyman)
(They shot the boy!)
The murder of a teenage life
Fire from the cold steel
The heat from the brights
The temperature of flesh and the shortness of breath
The murder of a teenage threat
The aroma of sinsemillion dollar superstar
Skama like a new cocaine tobacco leaf
Ecstatic tabernists fire water and freaks
The murder of a teenage chief
My easy speaking is as easy as it seems to be
Hungry belly jamma busts off easily
Balloon bang pop
Hot as a bang spot in Bangkok
Colder than a pimp glock
Aim shot, the frame drops
Pressure pushed him to the earth like a rain drop
Take not life in vein
And how the preacher was saying
Remember anyway they laid him in a stray box
Dark suit and gray socks
The neighborhood is all distraught
Candles lit the stoop at the park
Where the family and students are
Confused, in awe
They weep into each others arms it's murder!
New absence in a mothers arms
Even the warmth from the mother's arms
Could not keep her son from harm
From standing where the gun was drawn
Over come, done and done, he's gone
Murder!
Shrill shell like a bell that rung
The blood bursts, body temperature fell and plunged
And in the time it took the medics to come
The breath eased out of his lungs
And his soul eased out of the slums
And the voice eased out of the drums
The sirens through their ears, they sung
Murder!
Telephone wire, sneakers hung
Murder!
For the black and young
Murder!
And the aves they from
I am from the block the president did not campaign on
Where the dollar that the working poor slave for is made on
Where hustlers stretch to yay long
And hustle hard for an outpost to trade on
Flip it over and make more
Where the blocks are yellow taped off
Young bloods is trained off for obese to gray zone
Where the pressure just stay on
But the lights and the heat don't
The place where you witness the true power of street folks
And that's where I'm coming from people
High post, low key
Eighth, OZ, and kilo
Law man, dope man, adversary, amigo
Preacher man, pimp hand, both folding their c-notes
A black fist clutching deliverance for the people
Young hand reach out, strong hand reach in
Chop the devil's hand to make the fucker stop reaching
Ghetto people know when the voice of true speaking
M-Def, and for real hold still nigga seein'
I ain't got to say please, just believe it
The unerasable the black ink fact
Y'all fuckers know exactly how to act get back
Forever black (forever black) never wack (never that)
From the K (Killa K) that's that (that's that)
So you can kill all the yap, murder
They shot the boy
They shot the boy
They shot the boy
They kill 'em all
Written by: Dante Smith, Pharrell L Williams, Pharrell WilliamsLyrics © Raleigh Music Publishing LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLCLyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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