lookin' for a place to play, Well, I thought my pickin' would set 'em on fire, But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man. Well, I nearly 'bout starved to death
Heartache's knocking on her door Shadows dance outside her window Tears keep falling on the floor As the world around her crambles If you wanna save
Heartache's knocking on the door shadows dance outside her window Tears keep falling on the floor as the world around her crumbles If you wanna save
track the Indian dance to bring our reign back "What's up with you and Jay, man, are y'all ok man?" They pray for the death of our dynasty like Amen R
Question Dawg, Yo Where Dame At? His Track The Indian Dance, To Bring Our Reign Back Whats Up With You And Jay Man, Are Y'all Ok Man? They Pray For Death
, and grieving your loss, Death died a long time ago Swallowed in life, so her life carries on Still, it's so hard to let go This was her time This was her dance
Through Welcome To The Terrordome, niggas are ever wrong That's why you get no ends, but just in case you got a death wish, for flare for the dramatics
Fill the bottle till the Pete came home Now it's hotlanta we are the Montana, Louisiana, girl We some bad mamma jamma bout to do the damn thing to death
Handicap yourself by choice and keep the mind confined to the chair with no voice So speak up (you move your lips too slow) And make way to the center
the dance Someone with the hand velocity of Butch Cassidy Bitch N- with the audacity to blaspheme me Got yourself caught in a motha-fuckin' tragedy Drums of death
Try to fight it, try to deny it Stupid you will feel, what I do, I do at will Shooting from the hip, yeah boy shoot to kill Half a breath left on my death
high Just get yourself high, just get yourself high Just get yourself high, just get yourself high Just get yourself high, just get yourself high Just get yourself
Nasty bitches, around the world, I wrote this rhyme for you You might not like my rap, but I'm tellin' you bitch it's true So much death in the Oakland
win, they say you a sin, but in the end They jump on the bandwagon and dance to the band playing Skinny-ass pants sagging, it's only yourself you playing
fight it, try to deny it Stupid you will feel What I do, I do it well Shooting from the hip, yeah boy shoot to kill Half a breath left on my death
Why niggaz wanna clock me? Like that dance called the Chachi Don't they know I break motherfuckers into parts like Rocky Part I, part II, part III, niggaz