Lyrics:

You know sometimes I sit at home, you know,
and watch TV and I wonder what it would be like
to live someplace like the Cosby show,
Ozzie and Harriet, you know, where
the cops come and got you cat outta the tree
and all your friends died of old age.
But you see, I live in South Central and unfortunately...
SHIT AIN'T LIKE THAT! IT'S REAL FUCKED UP!

Goddamn what a brotha gotta do
To get a message through
To the red, white and blue?
What I gotta die
Before you realize
I was a brotha with open eyes?
The world's insane
While you drink champagne
And I'm livin in black rain
You try to ban the A.K.
I got ten of em stashed
With a case of hand grenades

Tell us what to do....Fuck you!
Tell us what to do....Fuck you!
Tell us what to do....Fuck you!
Tell us what to do....Fuck you!

You know what you'd do
If a kid got killed on the way to school
Or a cop shot your kid in the backyard
Shit would hit the fan mothafucka
And it would hit real hard
I hear it every night, another gunfight
The tension mounts
On with the Body Count

Yo, Beatmaster V, take these mothafuckas to South Central

(Drum solo)

I hear it every night
Another gunfight
The tension mounts
On with the Body Count

Last weekend 37 kids killed in gang warfare
in my backyard

(Guitar solo)

Yo, Earnie C, take these mothafucka home

(Guitar solo)

Yeah, we in the house, Body Count fools, 1991 mothafuckas

I hear it every night
Another gunfight
The tension mounts
On with the Body Count

Goddamn what a brotha gotta do
To get a message through
To the red, white and you?
What I gotta die before you realize
I was a nigga with open eyes?
The world's insane
While you drink champagne
And I'm livin in black rain
Don't you hear the guns
You stupid, dumb, dick-suckin, bum politicans

Tell us what to do....Fuck you!
Tell us what to do....Fuck you!
The tension mounts...