last night I dreamt that I was you. I was dressed all in black with dark glasses and attitude. such a pose I could simply not hold through days in a northern
hearts Cry on the couch all the poets come to life Fix me in 45 So long live the car crash hearts Cry on the couch all the poets come to life Fix
're high-fashioned, we're last chances. Which came first, the music or the misery? We're high-fashioned, we're last chances. (Go!) I went to sleep a poet
Save the best part for last, For last, You're an undiscovered! (For last,) Over walls we've trampled! (For last,) It's you I admire! (For last,) My living
s knees And sing, Please Could you move in slow motion? Everything goes by so fast Just slow down a little Save the best part for last For last You
the same cheap it's been I'm a new man I wear a new cologne And you wouldn?t know me If your eyes were closed I know what you?ll say ?This won't last
The image of the poet's in the breeze Canadian geese are flying above the trees A mist is hanging gently on the lake My house is very beautiful at night
traveled has immediate reaction Can?t you see that I am beaming? I?ll be leaving in a second Sipping magic from a chalice, detached from the distractions At last
music years before But the man there said the music wouldn't play Well now in the streets the children screamed [the children screamed] The lovers cried and the poets dreamed [the poets
(feat. Eban Thomas of The Stylistics & The Last Poets) From Willie Lynch to Willie Hutch Right on We superfly Made Gucci this shit, Louie too Suits and
orbit, line em up with the stars Tarot cards, you can see the pharaoh Nas "Nas is like.." Iron Mike, messiah type Before the Christ, after the death The last
I'm sick of apathy Instead of harmony I'm sick of poets workin' part time jobs While pissy people pick and choose the stars I know that I should be The last
there, giving you some of the best of me Player, pimp, ganster, poet We goin spit it, we goin show it to your ass "You're a champion" were my dad's last
tomorrows The years went by and then the killers came And took the men and marched them up the hill of pain And Lorca the faggot poet they left till last
I'm going downstairs to be a poet Got a great idea: gonna write a sonnet A verse or two of fearless prose A priceless quip to gild the rose I'll make
that's how my nigga do it I met Slacks back in, like '91 rappin We went to Millersville to get away from gun clappin It aint last I'll be in class Dreamin