Day of the dead down in Mexico You ever been on a holiday? You ever thought that you been here before You ever been in a desperate way On the beach stands
Traduction: L'Église. Day Of The Dead.
the day If you could It was more than a tragedy Emotions be grabbin' me Plane fell from the sky We tryin' to figure what happened Burnin' churches,
don't know nothin 'bout jumpin out splittin homeboy head But for real that's fucked up they say that homeboy dead I can't even think, who 'gon want him dead
'ry day, e'ry day I does That Benz is how I ride Black flag on the left, two hoes And right you better, move! AK all day Get shot up like Shyne, that
better than I ever felt But the Pennsylvania line's in an awful mess and the Denver road is about to melt I went to the church house, every day I go
should never know of one." Yet he walked right into the clubhouse of his lifelong deadly foe, Emptied out the register, said, "Tell 'em it was Crazy Joe." One day
Lenny Bruce is dead but his ghost lives on and on Never did get any Golden Globe award, never made it to Synanon. He was an outlaw, that's for sure, More
off He dead off and don't know me, don't tell me you love me When I was lonely and my daddy died all of my niggaz came to the church And thanks for comin
mad cream Balling the club, now I'm drunk having a bad dream This mothafucker tried to greet me with wealth I never knew that I would see that day that
It was way after midnight, all the village was asleep, All except for one young villain through the night did creep, He went down to the church, started
Well den a nuff ghetto youths Dat got no place to go Live night and day roaming In the ghetto Most ghetto youths Aint' got a place of their own Give dem
the youth dem life like racehorse And gi dem a uniform and a shave dem head with razors And now the clock a strike war, don't be amazed cause inna dem churches
walk upon their brothers While the heads are busy lying low Trying to keep to cover...oh Something went wrong Along the way Everybody's waiting for Judgement day
fill At the parish church of Thatcher, a mile from Fairmount Hill I went to see old friends there, to see what they might say The old ones were all dead
will go down to the brook and Sit upon the overlook then Forget about the troubles of the day We will walk among the graves of Men long dead with presidents