Paroles:
Funeral Hunger

covet Reaps a poor harvest In these latter days. Starve me in Boneman torture. Skin-tight lover. Pound upon pound Of flesh paid well With gnawing ache, And hunger

I'm looking at a funeral wagon rolling down A two-lane highway winding past a desert town A big blue canvas painted by the Master's hand The shifting

Deep in the darkness slumber Endless sleep Nothing moves inside my funeral suite I feel the sun slip down as hunger strikes Waking like being born Here

Overkill enough is enough There's nothing left of me to devour You've had your fill I'm all I have left What can stop your hunger for power 'Cos you took

again everybody now hands in the air it's a stick up (stick up) no funny business or you get lit up (lit up) you test I, you gon' die and at your funeral

everybody now Hands in the air, it's a stick up, stick up No funny business or you get lit up, lit up You test I (I), you gon' die (die) And at your funeral

cooch, gangstas don't die he's livin proof The D.A. who tried him was lyin A white dude, killed his mother durin the case Hung jury, now the D.A. is bein

a mother is the prosecutor. You were what you were Clean cut, unbecoming Recreation for the masses You always mistook fists for flowers Welcome welcome soldier smiling Funeral

I don?t have regrets all the times that I was negligent Standing in the courtroom fronting like im innocent Look at how I came up Duckin undercover men Friends getting railroaded hung