peoples know I spit it hard Two-thousand-and-what? Y'all cowards 'bout to get a bar And mines is gritty, spent a lot of time in the city Mindin', my
the Buddah wisdom Envision and added inscriptions of a mega spiritualism Paint a picture from the spiritual and seriously spit a lyric That'll rip through a phsyical ligament Trigger livin' in these city
I mean. Ya got one, two, three, four, five, six pockets in a table. Pockets that mark the diff'rence Between a gentlemen and a bum, With a capital "
Before you know it, he's a rich man Gold on every finger of his hand A brand new BMW. A condo. Ron ended up a john doe A body was found in the alley but
*glass breaking* [Sticky changes to a narrator voice] My whole life I ain't never give a shit My mentality was *clip cocked into gun* get shot or gimme a
(Band):Rammstein with tatu (English translation) This song is about the most beautiful city in the world. Moscow! This city is a prostitute She
It's panic time In the tale of two cities Such a crime the needy and the greedy Downtown is deadly The nerve of the killer elite Home street home, a place
with a choice who stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma City just to listen to a young woman's voice here's a toast to all the folks on death row
Running in circles, im chasing my tail, a tale of two cities, the place i call home, and it shows, so you know falling to pieces again and again,
of a wipe out in retail inter chart movement Although no one knows the exact cause of the new album Resources tell me a number of less fortunate rappers
a hot two seater As long as the love with me hoods will never forget me I could put raps in them and shine up the city Like elected Frank Nitty, jot
Juliet and her Romeo Two young lovers with one heartbeat In their devoted grave is where they'll sleep They are the passion in a city of hate Watching two
bound to a stencil called symmetry but my energy's a rental. So I take this now to say, thank you senoritaA for holding a flame to a lost wick. Thank
d check out the mail And we never took the same road twice on the way back home. I spent a few years out runnin' free I spent two or three in New York City
Here's a little story `bout a very old muffin She's a sugar when she's on her back Tellin' old tales of how it used to be And she said she's covered
life, flip the page Yo they askin me how old, we livin the same age I feel the rage of a million niggaz locked inside a cage At exactly which point do
easy Go to school, get a job, yo it couldn't be me So instead, I played my bed My momma got fed, and now a nigga livin' with a dread My best fuckin'
The fans wear a bomb vest Style be a eliquit A fellow pimp to mant with clips Fuck _ kicks and being skinny with zits Im the shhhhh, _ Like cane in a