. a?Cross the Country I been lookin', Seldom see Anybody workin' Is the work of the world all done Come a big rain, Come big thunder, Come big crop Plow crop under, Indians
the season go I'll miss the crackling of the air The loss of all I know Sad to see the season go Indian corn and the bitter taste of envy in the air
Watch the stream run by you Watch the Indian chief, wrapped in blue corn leaves drift by you Watch it take root in the sun's pond, and rise at the fire
season go. I'll miss the crackling of the air, The loss of all I know. Sad to see the season go. Indian corn and the bitter taste of envy in the air
the whore up from off of me Trying to understand this battle of psychology Psychotic, I slice optics of cyclops In water with warlocks, through Indian corn
work it out on our own sylvania is beautiful when the fall rolls around there's gourds out in the fields & indian corn ( you can't eat them, though ) many half-songs
sometimes you just know. `Round here we throw geodes in our gardens. They're as common as the rain or corn silk in July. Unpretentious browns and grays the stain of Indiana
the season go. I'll miss the crackling of the air, The loss of all I know. Sad to see the season go. Indian corn and the bitter taste of envy in the
one Six million seven hundred thousand and thirty-three lights on You think someone could take the time to sit down And listen to the words of my song At the beach in Indiana
: Madman drummers bummers and Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat In the dumps with the mumps as the adolescent pumps his way into his hat
it's time to roll nigga, we ain't calling on Jesus I'm calling Mad Dog for the 9 millimeters Cause I give the song with those peckerwoods to the fullest
I'm a nigga, a straight up nigga From a hard school Whatever you are I dot care, that is you fool I'm loud and proud Well endowedd with the big beef Out on the corner
bread to the short bread, word is bond Meticulously pimpously serve the song Act a damn donkey Like the pilgrims when they popped a tag on the indians
gone Long bread to the short bread, word is bond Meticulously pimpously serve the song Act a damn donkey Like the pilgrims when they popped a tag on the indians