die Only to return As new life by and by The passions that we feel Like lovers wild and free Are footsteps on the sand Holding back the mighty sea There's
to ride (Nigga, that's mobstability) And when you go from movin' O's to keys for more cheese (Fool, that's mobstability) And when it's money over bitches
your plans or your dreams? Well, it is so obvious that somethin' has changed What's happenin' baby, to make you act so strange? Something is burnin' baby, here's
days Mondays through Saturdays Sundays we danced like there's no tomorrow Duke (Ellington) played piano in Storyville We sang the Blues round midnight
it's on tonight we came in here to fuck it up with a shoot out or fight Niggas don't understand that it's on tonight hap hap hap it's on tonight.. Young
have to feel, feel before you hurt, hurt before you learn, learn before you try I feel like a wheel turning, turning on midnight - distorted - faces I feel
Then I harnessed up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day You know what it's like in the Yukon wild when it's sixty-nine below When the ice-worms
from the hurtin' inside When there's nowhere you can really run You take it as it comes Rita's out on the street tonight Midnight feels so strange She's
what you would do but I believed your aim was true from the look in your face - some kind of strange witches' brew Waiting, anticipating your return Our love feels
, the clean to my static Strange apparatus and gadgets, my bullets got magnets Pop pop pop, we attract to that crab shit Super superior stamina, there's
't know too much There's just no way to tell I guess you had to be there For to know that war was hell And there won't be any victory parades For those
and mighty without really knowing why Let the heat wear off a little Give your man another chance And don't fall for someone else's song and dance Sure there
village This she knows is true they're expecting her And she's got work to do He helplessly stands by It's meaningless to try As he rubs
There's a letter at your door Your face turned red when you thought I would call And you say, the mailman must have been sick today It's midnight and
there he's waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads sweep; And I smoke my pipe and I meditate in the light of the Midnight Sun, And
foot in the gutter --- In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap Radios. And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter --- On a double yellow
