"Body Count" (1992)
"Born Dead" (1994)
"Violent Demise: The Last Days" (1997)
"Murder 4 Hire" (2006)

Smoked Pork

Yo Moose, stop the car right here.
Alright, give it here, give it here.
No man let me do it, cool ice.
Stay in the car man, stay in the car. Stay in the car.

Uh, hi officers, um, we had a flat tire back there.
Do you think you guys could help us out?
"Naw, that's not my job. My job's not to help your fuckin' ass out."
I mean, um, you know I don't have any other way to get home.
"That's not my job, asshole."
Well uh, could you tell me what your job is?
"Right now my job is eatin' these doughnuts, or maybe...
hey, wait a minute. Aren't you--"

Yup.

Body Count's In The House

Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count. (YEAH MUTHA FUCKAAAAAA!)
Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count, nigga!

Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.

Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Body Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.
Body Count, Body Count.

Body Count.
Body Count.
Body Count.
Body Count.
Body Count.
Body Count.
Body Count.
Body Count.

Awwwwwwwwww shit
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.

Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.

On the bass I got my main muthafucka called Mooseman.
Layin' the rhythm tracks I got the one and only infamous D-Roc.
On the drums I got the one and only Beatmaster V muthafucka.
On lead guitars I got my nigga Ernie C.
And I'm Ice Mother Fuckin' T, bitch.

Come on come on, make some noise.
Yeah, goddamn it.
Come on, come on, come on, come on.
Come on.

Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.

Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.

Uh!
Yeah!
Uh!

Come on!
Yeah!
Make some noise!

BC, BC BC.

Body Count, muthafuckas!
Body Count's in the house, Body Count.

Now Sports

This weekend,
seventeen youths killed in gang homicides.
Now sports.

Body Count

You know sometimes I sit at home, you know,
and I watch T.V. and I wonder what it would be like
to live someplace like, you know, the Cosby show,
Ozzie and Harriet, you know, where
cops come and got your cat outta the tree
all your friends died of old age,
But you see, I live in South Central Los Angeles 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, muthafucka
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 muthafuckas
to South Central.

Ha ha.
Yeah
Fuck that.

I hear it every night,
another gunfight,
the tension mounts,
on with the Body Count.

Last weekend thirty-seven kids killed in gang warfare,
in my backyard.

No!
No!
No!

Yo, Ernie C., take these muthafuckas home.

Yeah.

Yeah, we in the house, Body Count fools, 1991 muthafuckas.

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 politicians.

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

A Statistic

A statistic:
At this moment,
there are more black males in prison
than in college.

Bowels Of The Devil

Out one night, yo, just chillin' out with my crew
We were actin' wild
'cause I didn't have nothin' else better to do.
Got a nine at my waist
stay out my fuckin' face.
You fuck with me
right here'll be your resting place.
Some ol' sucka, yo, he tried to put a move on me
I shot him in the face,
murder, in the first degree.
Now I'm sweatin', regrettin',
that's not for me
they got me locked in the fuckin' penitentiary.

Bowels of the devil,
let me tell you what the muthafucka eats,
its stomach's filled with lost souls
guts made out of steel and concrete.
Bowels of the devil,
listen close, 'cause I've been there before
and you don't wanna die there,
they call it goin' out the back door,
the back door, the back door, the back door.

Walked in the club all the ho's gave me the sex look
they like a nigga like me 'cause I'm a known crook,
and my posse's down, we don't mess around,
you fuck with us,
you'll be six feet underground.
That night they got me locked in a row called death
the governor, that muthafucka wants my last breath.
That's right, homeboy wanted to pull a switch on me
up here in this fuckin' penitentiary.

Bowels of the devil,
let me tell you what the sucka eats,
its stomach's filled with my homeboys
guts made out of steel and concrete.
Bowels of the devil,
listen close, 'cause I've been there before
and you don't wanna die there,
they call it goin' out the back door,
the back door, the back door, the back door. Yeah!

Bowels of the devil,
let me tell you what the muthafucka eats,
its stomach's filled with my homeboys
guts made out of steel and concrete.
Bowels of the devil,
listen close, 'cause I've been there before
and you don't wanna die there,
they call it goin' out the back door,
the bowels of the devil,
let me tell you what that sucka eats,
its stomach's filled with lost souls
guts made out of steel and concrete.
Bowels of the devil,
listen close, 'cause I've been there before
and you don't wanna die there,
they call it goin' out the back door,
the back door, the back door, the back door.

The Real Problem

The problem isn't the lyrics on the records.
It's the fear of the white kids liking a black artist.
But the real problem is the fear of the white girl
falling in love with the black man.

KKK Bitch

Aw yeah, what's up out there? BC's in the house. Right
about now, I wanna tell you a little love story, you know
what I'm sayin', this is a Body Count love story check out
the lyrics, you know, I'm a tell you 'bout what happened
when we went down South last year on tour.

Out on tour yo, I been all around the world
went to Georgia, met this fine-assed white girl,
blonde hair, blue eyes, big tits and thighs,
the kinda girl that would knock out most guys.
She got wild in the backstage bathroom,
sucked my dick like a muthafuckin' vacuum,
said "I love you, but my daddy don't play,
he's the fuckin' grand wizard of the KKK."

I I I love my KKK bitch, love it when she sucks me though,
I I I love my KKK bitch, love it when she fucks me though,
I I I love my KKK bitch, she loves it when I treat her bad,
I I I love my KKK bitch, mutha fuck her dear old dad.

You know what I'm sayin'. So we was down South fallin' in
love, you know, D-Roc had this Nazi girl, my man
Mooseman had a skinhead, I fell in love with Tipper Gore's
two twelve year old nieces. It was wild, you know what I'm
sayin', it got even worse, you know.

So one night they took us to a meetin'
white sheets, white hoods, no room for seatin'
there was Skinheads, Nazi's and crazies,
talkin' 'bout black people pushin' up daisies.
They hated Blacks, Jews, Puerto Ricans,
Mexicans, Chinese, even the Indians.
We had our hoods on,
we were slick
she pushed her butt up hard against my dick.
Then her daddy jumped on the stage
talkin' 'bout killin' in a goddamn rage.
I got mad, my dick got hard
entered in her ass
she said, "Oh my God!"

I I I love my KKK bitch, love it when she fucks me though,
I I I love my KKK bitch, love it when she sucks me though,
I I I love my KKK bitch, she loves it when I treat her bad,
I I I love my KKK bitch, mutha fuck her dear old dad.

So what we really tryin' to say is Body Count loves
everybody. We love Mexican girls, Black girls, Oriental girls,
it really don't matter. If you from Mars, and you got a pussy,
we will fuck you. You know, that's all we're sayin', word.

So every year when Body Count comes around
we throw an orgy in every little Southern town.
KKK's, Skinheads, and Nazi
girls break their necks
to get to the party.
It ain't like their men can't nut,
their dick's too little
and they just can't fuck.
So we get buck wild with the white freaks
we show them how to really work the white sheets.
I know her daddy'll really be after me,
when his grandson's named little Ice-T.

I I I love my KKK bitch, love it when she fucks me though,
I I I love my KKK bitch, love it when she sucks me though,
I I I love my KKK bitch, she loves it when I treat her bad,
I I I love my KKK bitch, mutha fuck her dear old dad.