Ill Bill - 21 | Текст песни

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• Ill Bill
• 21

[Chorus]

I turned 21 in prison, doing life without parole
When the jury heard what I'd done, guilty was the vote
When the judge gave me my sentence, he read it to me cold
Whiskey on his breath, masturbating underneath his robe
Only 21 in prison, doing life without parole
When I had the chance, I should've sold the devil my soul
Hell yeah, I shot the sheriff, left his body full of holes
Now I'm 21 in prison, doing life without parole

[Verse 1]

We all enter the world the same way
Naked and screaming, soaked in blood but things change
Some are brought home to palaces, others to the projects
Some are born billionaires and some are born convicts
Momma said when life gives you lemons make lemonade
Take a piss in it and serve it to the people that you hate
My pops always said there's only two types my friend
Those with loaded guns and those who eat shit 'til they're dead
I miss both of them, one's gone, the other in prison
I hate both of them, the love dies and none of it given
I gave both of them enough time to show me their wisdom
I'll take both of them to hell with me, my soul is convicted
As I stand in front of Satan hoping for answers
Coping with madness, I hold the chrome like a social advantage
Never hate your enemies, it affects your judgement
Keep it close point blank range and render justice!

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury
The defendant's story begins within a childhood of fear and misery
Age ten, witnessed his father murder his own mother
The guilt of her death lingers in his dreams when he slumbers
Even though he was a child he still felt responsible
Most of his adolescence in and out of mental hospitals
Anti-social, anti-everything
Sucked into a system, pacified by prescribed medicine
With psychiatrists as father figures
His biological a scumbag sociopath locked in prison
He hated him with all his heart and so he never visited
Thought the monster that his father was also lived in him
Kill a person you're a murderer, thousands you're a terrorists
Everyone, you're the father of Jesus of Nazareth
Perception is reality, facts are negotiable
I'll clap the mack off and put twenty-one holes in you

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