you've got to make a choice Wraps his arms around ya slow Cause you tense up like an armadillo God make up your mind God make up your mind Do you wanna
Translation: Cold War Kids. God, Make Up Your Mind.
to rot the soul We all unified to fight, keep the message and awake black Open up your eyes, see the enemy and shake that Bullshit lyin, free your mind
fazed by it I know the devil's waitin on me But does God like him playin his role in killin me though Lock me up until I die maybe But you can never
from that So I know what's on your mind when you're cocking your nine back Busting your bullets at them niggas on the corner And you aim 7 5 till your
a cartridge I bank shots Wettin' up your white tank top While my nigga Bugz is stickin' up Your nearest gang spot Just another scarred liar retired We make
screams from knives cuttin through your flesh Cold steal interrupting blood streams The ponds are grim, but they froze if do it right or bring your luxury Man for real, it makes
they don't understand kids today So when I pray, I pray I'll never grow to be that way And I hope that he answers me I heard God don't like ugly, well
then cold cursed Blessed Stripped him of his honors and dumped him in the desert But Mo' returned for the people, with his chest stiff out saw King said, "You want war? Make
are cold and vacant, check how we lay it Why when we speak they try to stifle our breath Cock a rifle to chest Then ya have the party of your life at your
the undertaking, your whole body faking I always try my hardest to keep communicating But you ain't relating You fucked up on what I'm making Watch, how we attract like magnets, break your
understand, is murda mo' They tell me keep my trigga finger easy, I'll open up your body Too many casualties around here, dead bodies around here And I can't get caught up
that So I know what's on your mind when you're cocking your nine back Busting your bullets at them niggas on the corner And you aim 7 5 till your
t seem fazed by it I know the devil's waitin on me But does God like him playin his role in killin me though Lock me up until I die maybe But you can
precise You know the Poet's nice, carryin tubes made of gold and ice Marchin through your outpost, causin outbursts Caught you in your house, cold made your