Lyrics:
Son Of Man Piano

threw the crib finding anything she can our relationship is not the only thing thats outta hand she even called my mama and said you need to get ya man cause ya son

stronger, yea) Verse 2 Here we go My style is like a shot of Jack Daniels, a baby grand piano Lighting a hop, smoking a cig, strumming on a banjo The son of man

, we squeeze hammers, man Bullets breeze by you, like Louisiana, man But I gotta feed Tianna, man So I move keys, you can call me the Piano Man Rain, sleet, hail, snow, man

my own voice /on the answering machine please leave a message/ I'm glad ya called I listen for a voice /but there's nothin' at all Man oh Man I gotta

t-shirts that say we cut hands Son we'll take both of 'em, the first time So you can't play even play the wind chime Or the piano, jazz or classical

speakers up) Brooklyn We we, we lyrical murderers (Detroit) Welcome to the Slaughterhouse (What you talkin 'bout?) Where we bring them verbal llamas out, bloaw We, we, we lyrical murderers Man

Pssh, man I need a lighter man Right here Yeah, whassup Slim? What's crackin'? Hit this shit Shit I almost hit this motherfucker today Pssh, is that

Hell no, I kick two and make the dome swell Son, that's the end I hear the doorbell ringin' And if that's your pops, tell the man to just come in "Oh,

, knock yourself out Boogie-woogie beat is what I'm talkin' about If you had the heebie-jeebies you could dance away To the boogie-woogie music the piano man