, well, this train This train, done carried my mother, well, this train This train, done carried my mother, well, this train This train, done carried my mother My mother
promised land; The holy lamb The planetary Hologram Blowing your Shakra's to oblivion Digital Man, Biblical man like Silian Vanishing Breed, the Holy
with all the little stupid fix-ins As I fix sins and vixens vick souls Stitch clothes for the characters they play then switch roles Nail me to the cross dress The holy
ll burn your worthless bodies and send the fire and stench to heaven high, Remind your worthless god, that our victory is complete Clean this earth of holy bitches Desecrate mother
music-business. and if you feel me put your hands up ,(hands in da sky) and if you feel me put em high,(put em high)... push 4 fingers and a i in da
broke his old habits they Don't seem so bad to me, hope it's some fad Like new Coke or Shaun Cassidy Don't need no radical holy-rollin' masochist quotin
sell! In Sin City On the quickest strip goin, cum holy high rollin with me Get you cash cup flowin, cum holy high rollin with me Let your holy mother
place, anywhere Y'all niggaz could get it, act like y'all don't know In a world that's ice cold, blacks die slowly Cats snatch rollies, gats'll leave you holy
herself on the electric cello Which she ain't never studied And Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary About his inability to hold an erection on the high holy
he felt Settled like a moth down in the east-end Neon belt Well he used to be a believer, ?til the city got its grip Now if there?s any holiness left
see your face When I fall from grace, baby Hold me close in the New York night A holy ghost or a satellite And promise me it will be okay Your mother
de lion dem Aha...fire bu'n! Ah me say Holy Emanuel I, King Selassie I,Jah! Ras Tafari It is good to give thanks unto The Most High,King Selassie I,and
eternal dreaming Old oaks lighted up by the fullmoon's light The coldness of dungeon touches the inside of wooden maze From the womb of the mother-wolf
forests of eternal dreaming Old oaks lighted up by the fullmoon's light The coldness of dungeon touches the inside of wooden maze From the womb of mother
s features This is the prophecy - the cult leader The people's temple, the holy ground, the war compound Four-pound to rifles, disciples, the holy idles
comes to a rap jam Even robins scream, "holy hip-hop biz man!" I grab the microphone and go every which way but loose Cause I'm the ugly ducking that seduces mother
a shot two times and stick you for your rhyme Put you in a pine box You and your whole family's on detox Hustlin crack for reeboks Holy socks, cut you