[James Nichols from Bowling for Columbine] 

Some people, law enforcement, if you want to call them that 

Were here and they were shaking in their shoes. They were physically 

Shaking scared to death. Because certain people, said I'm a radical 

I'm a wild man; I got a gun under every arm, if you say anything 

I'll shoot you. If the people find out how they've been 

Ripped off, and enslaved, they will revolt with the blood 

Running in the sheets 



Yo, Ticket to ride, the white crime, highway 

Bring all the guns; the funds will come my way 

Whether we deliverin' high grade 

To the people in the pit of the tri-state 

Or dabble in the hood like fly weights 

Lock and load in the range with rock the globe 

Made any aim possible 

Til the lead belly lost control 

In the hold of the paper that fold 

At one time was related to gold 

Made many men lose their soul 

To the price of the dice that roll 

How can a light so bright make a man so cold? 

So another man's plans unfold 

Can you really see the truth till it happens to you? 

Its so severe what the hopeless will do 



Ain't no pickin' your position in the beginning your life 

Not every man want to stand by his kids and his wife 

Too many lost kids in the night 

Hand on heat, grippin' it tight 

Any man want beef could get it right 

Followed by enough flame to put a permanent end 

To the learning of men 

Class session, too many the blast the last lesson 

Often taught like the wars that are often fought 

As old as mankind 

Now outta his damn mind 

Stand on the gunpowder landmine 

Ready to blow at any second 

I'm checking for the signs of the end 

Of all-time, I figure its on time, my last thoughts forming the rhyme 



Got me running through the streets 

That reek of the dead, its more food to the welfare 

My niggaz on welfare, nobody givin up healthcare 

Nothing but heat, how you gonna tell me it ain't hell here? 

George Bush having a swell year 

Swingin' the gat, ready to clap, anything on the map 

You done seen what they bring to Iraq 

Now bring it back to the source, land of the physical force 

Land of the gun, land of the gun, land of the gun, land of the gun! 



This is the place where the cops rush in the building 

Paramilitary death squads murder your children 

Empty shell of a man rippin shots in the air 

Soldiers dying out there, but nobody cares 

Prepare for the future but make note of the past 

Or be condemned to live it again and get blast 

Class warfare kept outta the news 

Replaced by a corporation's political views 

Cause this is where the guns are manufactured and sold 

The land that was stolen stripped of all of its gold 

Old timers on the deathbed speakin the wisdom 

Immigrants crucified by conservative Christians 

Now we all got freedom to die in the street 

But the difference is more of us die in a week 

Than they die in a year I made it clear 

Where I stand when the line is drawn 

But now the line is gone 

And nigga anything goes 

The land where the guns don't let anything grow 

And what the fuck you niggaz know about living in hell 

You not built like me you never lived in a cell 

You never gambled with your soul 

Fuck the ice on your hand, gun in your palm 

But you got a niggaz life in your hand 

Young man, just remember that slicing a gram 

Is a bloody game, like throwin mice in a fan 

My words flow like the rivers that's west of Iran 

The Fertile Crescent moon, with the star in the middle 

I reveal the depth of history's scars when I scribble 

I gave you the world, and I ain't even charged you a little 

The martyr is crippled 

The prophets are dead and buried, but the message is simple 

And its not written down in holy books as a riddle 



Now we running through the streets, starvin 

On that guerilla warfare 

My people stuck in a guerilla warfare 

Innocent children screamin in tears 

You actin like the army ain't put hell here 

Military industry havin a swell year 

Swinging a gat while lying in heaven 

Living off a blank check after 9/11 

But I'm have the truth brought back to the source 

Fight for my land with physical force 

Speak through music, the subliminal course 

I need a tek and a clip, fuck a jag and a Porsche 

Land of the gun, land of the gun, land of the gun, land of the gun.