: To watch crippled hands create a fire, to sketch an arrow, to burn beside her. The blood of pattern, the sound of eggs drop, our lips of old, oh how
: (Fire as a metaphor) late night collision, two machines cross paths unexpectedly. Oddly, their engines conitued to run individually, as if oblivious
: I'm seeing long strips of wheat, and dry winds, I'm seeing that you're no longer alive, and that I hold against you. I'm seeing anxious lines of automobile
: katahdn. the eerie cold of the morning. the sun shining through the pines. in the distance a fish rises to an insect. giving birth to infinite
fat it don't make no sense Wrist so clean don't need no tense Watch so bright I don't need no light And no where word don't need no mic Niggas like yeah
caught up in a one-eight-seven but I don't represent no gangbang Some niggaz like lynchin but I just watch them hang so on, and so-on, why don't you
't let ?em but they did indeed! Don't let them assassinate Hugo Chavez Don't let them assassinate Evo Morales And bring back Martin, Malcolm, Medgar
all Don't stall or I'ma stick you like a voodoo doll Doors locked stop draw for the count, who drops? Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one
and don't try to follow Cause just like Waco, I can take fo' -- -- ATF, to they death Bust a left on Western, go and get a room Don't want to be a felon
(feat. Chris Martin) [Verse One] Life is but a dream to me I don't wanna wake up Thirty odd years without having my cake up So I'm about my paper 24/
believe this shit Guru?) So I face (I'm from the hood man) the final curtain (No the REAL hood the hood, not the RAP hood) (The REAL hood, like three
can't go back home You know when I heard that? When I was back home I'm comfortable dog, Brooklyn to Rome On any Martin Luther, don't part with your future Don
be talking I make you famous I put your face on milk cartons Beenie Mack smoother than Jerome on Martin I keep the silence on the three eighty loughton
I met this girl when I was three years old And what I love most, she had so much soul She said "Excuse me little homie, I know you don't know me But
pussy footing like shit Pop all the balloons and spit in the punch Yeah, kush and the blunts I ride through your block see a foot in the trunk I don't
Something's gotta give! Yeah, you know what I'm sayin? Uhh Herring homes, unh, martel homes, carver homes, tekwood Martin luther king, bankhead Verse
2] For all my young ladies that's drivin' Miss Daisy Drivin' me crazy, rock the beat baby! Hop up out the rrrt, she beat up the payment I don't give a
