a single one got through... Please, Give me something; Something to hold on to. Give me something, That links me to you. Give me something; Something to hold on
that you'll believe that every waking day we find will reveal an open door you turned my life around but I don't need you anymore we risked our lives on
keep you in this place. And I know you think those pretty eyes are nothing much to see, but beauty's running wild on your face. Yeah, beauty's running wild on
wait till your heads locked & trap the blame back on you why wont you believe me? because I keep staring at my shoes I try and move closer & open the floodgates locked on
Here I sit,, The world upon my shoulder, Think I'd cry without a love to keep me warm. And I'm sure The faithfulness grows older, I'm as useful as a broken
My hearts on fire I've said these words a thousand times The bathroom mirror stopped and smiled So take my pulse and hose me down My hearts on fire Cause when you're standing on
on these tired eyes. And I was drinking too much, Only the person who would fall by a single touch. You screamed at me Why?, And I blamed it on these
I never I never meant to say you were a thorn in either side, It was a side effect from the scars on the fourty-fives. And as the vital mistakes, it reminds
wrote Takin off my coat, clearing my throat Chorus: Method Man I got my mind made up, come on... [come on] get in get in too [get on it] let it
program, hit the streetz we cop 56 mo gramz Y'all niggaz ain't messin wit scrams And that's [Drag-On] (come on, come on, come on,) Boy, whats the difference
little man, show me Clutching on his momma leg, remind me of the old me Ain't trippin' off no old beefs, ain't grinding on my old streets I'm in the hills smoking on
Dougie, come here little man, show me Clutching on his momma leg, remind me of the old me Aint trippin' off no old beefs, aint grinding on my old streets I'm in the hills smoking on
So i go back to that sun On the street, Am i the only one not counting on my feet? Maybe I'll just let go. How many times have i tasted the rain? Often
a 45 cross the head gun butt ya (Yeah!) Ya'll pussy-ass niggas ain't hard, stomp that ass out like a million man march Sawed off shot gun hand on the
We were the children of `45 Loaded like pistols and taught how to die We looked the enemy straight in the eye (And never surrender) Through trenches dug
