Search results for throw by martin solveig

We've found 57 lyrics, 100 artists, and 100 albums matching throw by martin solveig:


Albums:

Martin & Blane Sing Martin & Blane (Martin & Blane) · Throw out the Prozac Here Come Polka Heroes (Hutchinson, Hutch) · Throw Your Spades Up (Kingspade) · A Stone's Throw from Heaven: 1940-1941 (Glenn Miller) · Throw Down Your Arms [Bonus Tracks] (Sinéad O'Connor) · First Throw (Dice of Dixie Crew) · Throw: The Yo-Yo Studio Compilation (Hutchinson, Hutch) · It Ain't Yours To Throw Away (Nashville Cast) · Throw Ya Hands Up (Stereos) · Throw Some D's [Hit Pack] (Rich Boy) – and 90 other albums »


We're all slaves to time 
No color's right 
Throw our hate into the fire 

Martin Luther 
Brought the truth 
The color of our blood's the same
of Jawbreaker as the perfect
Wedding band let's just hope that Martin Sprouse does not get pissed and
Break his other hand will Odell catch the poison ivy bouquet
This one' called Martin Scorsese
He makes the best fucking films (x2)
If I ever meet him I'm gonna grab his fuckin' neck and just shake him
And suffocate the light in me
Throw the stones that kill the truth
Deception must be absolute
Rape the mind that will not die
Its sharpest throes
Standin' by the bar
Conversation smart
Felt like my first time
Hittin 106th and Park
Back [? ]
Legs super thick
You know the type you can't wait to go
(Treach)
One steps down the path of poverty most know the route
not a pot to piss in or a door to throw it out
All I hear, these days, we say, she
I want all the kush
I want all the bottles
I want all the cash
I want all the models
I want it all
I want it all

[Verse 1: B. Martin]
Ok,
from you

OK

ladies and gentlemen Martin Lawrence

boo

this is Marin Lawrence's First video visit to a 
recording studio

and his last
dodging the debacles like pot holes in Jamaica
We cut down the weed bury the paper on them acres
Martin had a dream bob got high I still do both but somehow
and Remy Martin
Some of the homeys from L.A. and Carson want to throw a private party today
Threw on some Gautier and my Rolex link dressed to kill like
my dirty Jesse James
The CEO of dirty and he go by Cornell Haynes
Mean-mugging all you niggas like I hopped up out your dame
I'm like uh-oh, there
We are dying, we are dying
Are we gonna die? are we gonna die?
We are dying

Light a blunt, throw on nas, collect my thoughts
Blow the candles out
I grew up off of wilmington and rosecrans
Where nigga's drink 4-0 cans and throw it up with both hands
Support compton, support compton, support
of the handgun)
Land of the beautiful (home of the shotgun)
Cursed by the hate we throw (You’re dead if you ain’t got one)
Is this the new national anthem? (It was
me
What's up homey loc, step and you get smoked
I have a dream like Martin Luther King
that one day, yo, I can do away
with the pitiful,
to the County with no motherfuckin' bail

4800 with this Crippin', oh well
My big homie Boy Blue snatched me by my coattail
He said trip Dogg, ya better get
Straight to the County with no motherfuckin' bail
4800 with this Crippin', oh well
My big homie Boy Blue snatched me by my coattail
He said trip Dogg, ya
fresh out hit the button top recline
I'm glowing on the pine down martin Luther king
I'm looking like a dream cause the Chevy so clean
Dem j's on gleam
Martin Luther King and Jesus Christ by the brass
I'm so glad Josie decide not to have that abortion
And put me in a can or even take me to the ocean
Seen
name spelled out, my own pain spilled out
No pain, no gain, I blow brains, Cobain
Throw flames, Liu Kang, the coach ain't help out, so I call my own
Fat Joe

And that bitch, Remy Martin

We thuggin'

You know the rest
Got the tank top on that show the vest

I know some chickens that be
throw
A double diamond party in the north pole
Invite all the writers and journalists
Even biters will tournament, to see who can be me
Better than
a performer
They read one magazine and wanna think they gettin' warmer
They only getting colder hell, maybe I should throw

A double diamond party in the north
you didn't buck a shot
Put the pistol down, throw up your hands, see what ya got
Old Johnny Walker from around the block
Was livin' rather large 'till
Like ya just get cocked,
By them head got track,
Hit you with a gallaba treat like a virgin that wanna hit ya cherry mama,
I prefer tha white meat