There are times when I'm not even thinking about you And there are nights I don't want to be around you And I know, I know, I know you think I'm crazy
Although my tattoo reads 'no more pain' Lately I feel the needle hit me up in vein Most of my real niggas are dead They done left me with my fake friends
you slip, hollow tips are sharper than an arrow [Z-Ro] I decided August 31, 1999 There's no more time for fake partnas, there's only time for my grind
there's gonna be some real mutha-fuckas and there's gonna be some pussys Now the real niggas gonna be the ones with money and bitches The pussys are
one of niggaz strapped sippin on 'nac (Cognac) In the back, my AR-15 Thuggin till I die, these streets got me cravin thorazine My lyrics are blueprints
Drugs are just bad, drugs are just bad (South Park is gonna sue me!) So don't do drugs (Suck my motherfuckin penis!) so there'll be more for me (Hippie
spent a long time comin like a bless and a check you see 106 and park fans don't even fuckin respeck you Its kinda funny when ya be pol fake like like
You are hopeless Your hopelessness Is rising around you, rising around you You like it It gives you something to do In the day time Hey buddy, you need
by the gram Keep my composure when it's time to get loose Magnetized by the mic while I kick my juice If there was a problem Yo--I'll solve it!
the blocks You can dig the styles cause the styles are for the digging A fat sack of soul, that's how the Sector roll Never making fake material, why
things are getting hard when we see them as they are can't those qualities remain the same? woman, feeling good about the choice i made in so deep there
end of Duck Seazon] "The Wu-Tang Clan will rise again There are many of us, working for the good of the Wu Tang" "Die!" [*sounds of fighting are heard
Inside my head, there are so many questions to answer, and self-doubt grows in my mind like cancer, but I make sure that my thoughts are pure, and my
rap consortium There's a whole colosium Of fake rap cats Who tax human beings Just a micro-cosm Of a larger macro-problem I sit with my pen and pad Imagine
got the socks and more pigeons up here Evilyn lost the fuckin' records Now it's show time, time to flow time Evil lost the records but we still gotta go time