conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Genocide with the following description: “Genocide” is the third track on Compton. It shows how brutal Compton can be, since the murder rate there is pretty high.
  Featured artist Candice Pillay described what recording the song was like to MTV:
  
  ‘Genocide’ is the bomb, man. It was produced by Dem Jointz. The way that record started was Marsha Ambrosius — who’s an amazing writer — came up with the hook. There was that little section on there that had the rap-sing part, which is my verse.
  Jointz played me that record. I was like, ‘Damn, that sh-t is crazy.’ I was like, ‘What are y’all doing with that verse?’ They were looking for someone to sing kind of like a reggae rap. I was like, ‘Let me at it. That’s my shit. I could do that.’
   Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Produced by Dr. Dre & Dem Jointz]
  [Hook: Marsha Ambrosius]
  Stone-cold killers in these Compton streets
  One hand on the 9, all eyes on me
  Murder, murder
  Murder, murder, ha
  Call 9-1-1, emergency
  Hands up in the air for the world to see
  It's murder, it's murder
  Murder, murder (Murder)
  [Bridge: Candice Pillay]
  Murda dem down, kill 'em dead (Yo!)
  Bullet to the dome, to the head
  Murda dem down, kill a yout'
  Don fi pull up on di man and
  (Turn me up!) What it look like?
  See, murda dem down, kill 'em dead (Yo!)
  Bullets come down from the air
  Murda dem down, kill a yout'
  Don fi pull up on di man and
  (Turn me up!) What it look?
  [Hook: Marsha Ambrosius]
  There's the stone cold killers in these Compton streets
  One hand on the 9, all eyes on me
  Murder, murder
  It's murder, it's murder
  Call 9-1-1, emergency
  Hands up in the air for the world to see
  It's murder, it's murder
  Murder, murder (Murder)
  It's been a 187 in this bitch! [Verse 1: Dr. Dre]
  Murder this, murder listen, hear that Suburban whippin'?
  Tinted windows, right at your wifey (Brrrat!)
  And I bet you miss her
  Reload the Pro Tools and we throw the clip in both trays
  That's one on the left and one in the right hand
  Scottie Pippen, both ways
  Been doin' drive-bys
  Got this music industry timeline lookin' like Rosecrans
  When these niggas throw up them signs high
  I'm talking about that bottom, where it's high crimes
  Shit, I’m just tryna get paid and keep them thighs high (Thighs high)
  Sometimes, I feel like I could just bury ‘em, bury 'em
  Cause delirium, mass hysteria, no scarier area
  I'm very aware hip-hop needed something to carry it
  So I married that bitch and swung down in that chariot
  And you way too fuckin' close, beware the barrier
  This is Hub City, nigga, don't make us embarrass you
  Man, you should be realistic, these niggas 'round here ballistic
  We did the numbers, and you looking like another statistic
  [Hook: Marsha Ambrosius]
  There's the stone-cold killers in these Compton streets
  One hand on the 9, all eyes on me
  Murder, murder
  It's murder, it's murder
  Call 9-1-1, emergency
  Hands up in the air for the world to see
  It's murder, it's murder
  Murder, murder (Murder) [Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar]
  (Ahh, shit!) Recognize what live inside these eyes
  I'ma ride until the dead has risen
  Live in a project building, dodging the module ceilings
  I ride, I'ma ride in a stolen Jeep
  Ride with the eyes of five blind men, my vision (Corrupted)
  Mama tried counseling, five plans for Kendrick (But fuck it)
  My family ties had sabotaged Rosecrans existence (Abducted)
  My aliens on surveillance, they paid me a visit (Disgusting)
  Our stadium's packed, Raiders in black
  Curls dripping, silver bullet, palladium in my strap
  I lie on the side of a one-way street (Blow-blow-blow-blow!)
  Nowhere to go, death all I can see (Blow-blow-blow-blow!)
  I say "Fuck is up?" I fuck 'em up
  Your supper's up, and something's up
  I hope he no can walk the tightest rope before the double-dutch
  Broke plenty records with this weapon, I protect it under oath
  My discretion, fuck your blessing, fuck your life, fuck your hope
  Fuck your mama. fuck your daddy, fuck your dead homie
  Fucked the world up when we came up, that's Compton, homie!
  [Bridge: Sly Pyper]
  Murder, murder
  Murder... murder
  It's all murder... murder
  Ahh! [Outro: Sly Pyper]
  Murder, murder
  Murder, murder
  It's been a 187 in this bitch!