Murder

Now you don't feel welcome
In your own home

Once all jobs went to your kind alone
Now you don't feel safe in
Your sweet home

Double lock every door
They're down the road

(Instrumental)

You're the embarassment
Bigots calling for a line up, murder
Feeling lost everything

Bigots calling for a line up, murder



Credits
Writer(s): Unknown Writer, Bryan Diaz
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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