't want to realise. I can still remember the sound of your voice, You looked better, you can't have made this choice No It can't be! I can not stand
't want to realise. I can still remember the sound of your voice, You looked better, you can't have made this choice No It can't be! I can not
t want to realise. I can still remember the sound of your voice, You looked better, you can't have made this choice No It can't be! I can not stand
a teeny weenie triple And we can toast the fact we ain't dead yet! I can't stop eating Your hairline's receding Soon there'll be nothing at all So,
of that dro Slidin' on a roll, groupie in my vehicle that I don't even know And if I wasn't Banks, shorty prolly wouldn't roll From the Benz to the lobby
to the ball, I go there all the time. Behind every tree, There's something to see, The river is wider than a mile. I tried you twice, You can't be nice
depraved, You cannot depend on it to be your guide When it's you who must keep it satisfied. It ain't easy to swallow, it sticks in the throat, She gave
a whitewash shotgun shack an old man passes away Take his body to the graveyard and over him they pray Lord won't you tell us tell us what does it mean
we nod heads and small talk like polite strangers It's natural to fall off, just land close to the tree I'll be there if they need me to be and I know
this could all be with a frenectomy and a few words of love. My shabop shalom baby Won?t you shabop shalom with me Under the old banana tree Whoa, whoa
elder forests [Have you forgotten the lessons of the ancient war] We need great golden copulations The fathers are cackling in trees of the forest Our mother is dead
rosebuds while ye may) (Old Time is still a-flying;) (And this same flower that smiles today) (Tomorrow will be dying") We can learn From the past
above my face. A fat old amphibian speaker for the dead. Gather round ye animals. Gather round this lake. Take upon your vigil. Wallow in the wake. It
trees [The Game:] California ain't a state it's a army Motherfuckers ain't gon learn till the chronic blunt don't burn And you can't see nothin but the
don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you I don't wanna shake hands, or wear your G-Unit shoes Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group
