I must confess To tell the truth I've done my best But you treat me like poison Even with the lights on Guess I might as well be dead Oh, I'm in the graveyard
to beautiful England And the gray, damp filthiness Of ages and battered books And fog rolling down behind the mountains On the graveyards and dead sea
right I got a sweet soft fever rushin' around my head I'm gonna sleep tonight in Maria's bed Got on a dead man suit and smilin' skull ring Lucky graveyard
was watching Sanford & Son workin the graveyard shift at a party before rollin a splif in behind the glass i see crackheads all night but tonight the moon
I come beatin down the block and i crack the bedrock Dishes drop, the shit comes to a (dead stop) Motherfuckers think godzilla's comin (the lights go
Sanford and Son, working the graveyard shift. At a party store, rolling a spliff. I'm behind the glass I see crackheads all night. But tonight the moon
have picnics under the moon In the graveyard We can have picnics under my house (My kind of bitch) I'm looking for a girl to die with If you're already dead
! What's in the bag? A shrunken head and shrivled scrotum sac! Why? Ya think voodoo's fake? Come to the graveyard, I'll make the dead wake Raise, raise
[Violent J:] On the perfect night the graveyard is lit by a full moon Autumn leaves and stone often treated with an old boom Here and there the night
fuck em with doomsday productions eat clips and trip if i catch you fuckin with my grip you find your ass dead in a graveyard and ima continue
, of his blade they can't hide. The moon is full, and the sky is dark, another night of pleasures finaly will start. No takes your way to the graveyard
Now the funeral grounds are at last awash With the blackness of this frigid autumn night I've lurked into the graveyard with pick and spade in tow This
Or what it means to be dead It's just a sound going through your head Let them go on, let them go on Standing there in the graveyard While the moon
There's a rainbow of babies Draped over the graveyard Where all the dead sailors Wait for their brides And the cold bitter snow Has strangled each grass
begins or ends Or what it means to be dead It's just a sound going through your head Let them go on Standing there in the graveyard While the moon
in the boneyard Lightning purifies in strike Fire consecrates the rest Birthrise of the graven image Black clouds bury the dead sun (as the) moon takes
this town 'Cause the dead are dancing The dead are dancing The dead are dancing in the town Yes, the dead are dancing The dead are dancing The dead
dead ones, raised from their graves Soil of the graveyard moved by shovel Oaked lid of coffin, I find from that hole At the dead of the night cross-screws
