God rest ye merry gentlemen Let nothing you dismay For Jesus Christ our Saviour Was born upon this day To save us all from Satan's power When we were
magic from a chalice, detached from the distractions At last, I can relax, looking past all of the action A fraction or a fragment of me actually is present The rest
) [Chorus 2X: 2Pac] M.O.B., nigga 'cause we mob on you tricks and you know we keep it money over bitches [2Pac] Thugs known to bust on sight God bless
lackluster, memoirs of the black hustler Condos, Beemers, bomb hoes, coke bags, toe tags, John Does Fiends skits them into the plane of day, as plain as day It's hard to reach, to smell God
, whether in projects or suburban residential Fuck that We keep the livest niggas happy then we blow the spot quick, give me money make it snappy Oh my God
me why man I just don't know know know know know know know I'm as cold as the cold wind blows blo-blo-blo-blo-blo-blows Oh oh oh oh oh (Verse 2) Fuck
ll shit on you Girl you know I'll shit on you Bitch or man I'll shit on you I will shit (Swift aka Swifty McVeigh) I remain fatter than gluttony Tapin bombs to the back of record companies Blow
of soft. Everybody know it all, Nobody follow a protocal, The money's only good until you blow it all. Stacking every cents, Guliani knocked John Gotti
to the walls of Jericho He marched with spear in hand Go blow them ram horns, Joshua cried 'Cause the battle is in my hands God knows that Joshua fit
Good God! Good God! Amen . . . John Lennon: Okay? FZ: Sit down and cool it for a minute so you can hear what we're gonna do! John Lennon: Yeah, this
script Taking trips to Zimbabwe Africans started calling the God Ali Bumbaye (so bwoy) It be the God stricken, God nutrition, lightly stricken (ha) Blow
To The Walls Of Jericho he Marched With Spear In Hand go Blow Them Ram Horns, Joshua Cried 'cause The Battle Is In My Hands god Knows That joshua Fit
once you taste it you can't live [chorus] [verse 3:] Wanna be seen now, groupies Now you've become what you once despised James Dean, John Belushi, blow
, you're operating on f*ck time Y'all n*ggaz ain't worth my shells, all y'all n*ggaz tryin to do is hurt my sales, and stop trips to John McNale The type
from a chalice, detached from the distractions At last, I can relax, looking past all of the action A fraction or a fragment of me actually is present The rest
my southern ways Where I can be myself and live another day Take me back to my southern ways Where the tall pines blow and the St. John's flows, and only God
the Carter Heard Tec got murdered in a town I never heard of by some bitch named Alberta over nickel-plated burners And my bitch swear to God she won
