[Hook: Buddha Monk]
People are dying, trying to get in the mind of these Brooklyn Zu Killas
But they don't know, it's a cold, cold, world

[Shorty Shitstain:]
Travel through the mind of a killa, most killas
Is like known gorillas
Dead man can't tattle tell, I'm hungry as hell
And the streets ain't feeding me well
Killas coming off, all shapes and forms
You even got they young ones packing big Guard U Nows
And wasting no round, kick, fast'll blow you down
They love the sound, you see how that sounds?
You got pops outside getting his grind on
Got moms in the kitchen, and she cooking with her nine on
And they teach the babies to be gangstas
Got little young one, just waiting to bank ya
Niggas putting poison in drinks
So watch what you sip from, cause it could be your last drink
Blame it on insanity
What posess a grown ass man to kill his whole family
Look at little Bernard Guess
He was on his way home, with the chrome
I guess it just be all a reaction, the nigga started blasting
Leaving fragments, on the third rail
I guess he just was going through some things
Cause when the stick-up, he had to let his nine sing

[Chorus x2: Buddha Monk]
It's a cold world, babe, it's a cold world, babe

[12 O'Clock:]
Let's make a motion picture, put Zu in a haunted house
Case of Olde Golde and cats with Guinness Stoute
Forty bust these, nigga mouth laced up
Put the stakes up, lock the door, board the windows up
Handcuff, reach up, silverplate mixed with weed and dust
It's digital, shit get critical
Trying to escape, but no way, we in the castle
Surrounded by a lake, alligators and rottweilers, no food to swallow
Naked bitch in the basement, it makes no sense
Paranoid, hearing wood from the floor making noise
Me and my boys, the bottom like basement
Don't like to be caged in, we kill a man

[Chorus x2]

[5 Foot Hyper Sniper:]
As I look into the mind of a killa, I see a DC sniper
Teaching the youth, how to snipe ya
I Scott Peterson your wife, for the right price
Give out shots like Colin Ferguson
For no purpose, I'm like Timothy McVay
I'm blowing up buildings, I'm killing men, women and children
I know a Sicilian, his name is Al Capone
He get you hit in your home, by Frank Nitty
He get the job done, for a buck fifty
K, Martin Luther King Jr. will be here today
If it wasn't for James Earl Ray
Even Marvin Gaye pops is a killer

[Hook]

[Chorus x2]