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Search results for 'up this hill and down by claire lynch'

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Albums:

Damian With Brian Lynch and Friends (Brian Lynch) · 20 Secretos de Amor: Valeria Lynch (Valeria Lynch) · Lynch Mob (Lynch Mob) · Best of Lynch (Brotha Lynch Hung) · Lynch the Weirdo (Bad Acid Trip) · Lynch Mob (Lynch Mob) · The Best of Brotha Lynch Hung (Brotha Lynch Hung) · Lynch by Inch: Suicide Note [Bonus DVD] (Brotha Lynch Hung) · Brian Lynch Meets Bill Charlap (Brian Lynch) · Brotha Lynch Hung & Siccmade Muzicc Present: Now Eat (Brotha Lynch Hung) – and 90 other albums »


To lead me through this world of sorrows
For a million years

'til the skies come falling down
'til I pick myself up from the ground
I'll wait, wait for you
damn man, I think I just killed my mom man
You, you
Naw, naw I ran up in there man and this lady I saw her
Lynch 
I was high an everything man just
to
She practices her lessons every afternoon
Up and down the scales of nowhere
Stumbling across Au Claire de Lune
Hour after hour in her basement room
fourth, so I guess they're Yankees still
Though they've moved back to Cork now, up Military Hill

And the tide flows into Miltown, we come from far
gun up but I think keep peep this game now
To the niggas that's just gone by that fuckin' with Bone
Swing widda clip tight clan
It's all eternally
A man opened his window and stared up Primrose Hill
Out there enjoying themselves I've seen them from this sill
Green splashed with white and red
A man opened his window and stared up Primrose Hill
Out there enjoying themselves I've seen them from this sill
Green splashed with white and red
He's not supposed to fight back, he's supposed to have thick skin
He's supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in
He's the neighborhood
niggas money's gettin low
But could you come back though, set up shop, and get the fat glow?
Tired of y'all, mostly inspired by y'all
So what the deal
a quarter 'til nine
So by 10:15 I got my dick on her spine
Relax, recline, roll somethin nigga
Hit this shit, blaze it up, now raise it up
The grip
[Intro: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Fuck these hoes, it's the re-do, you know how we do
Every Single Bitch y'all
From the Psycho Active album, by my nigga X
the town was a boom
The jailhouse is empty so's the Palace Saloon
Just one look will tell you that this town was real
A secluded old dirt road leads up
your feet
Empty cheers and a great defeat
It’s a party and it’s on repeat
No one’s here on their own free will
Something chased them up this hill
Rooster Hill
By Ronnie Rogers


Last Saturday night on rooster hill
I lost 4 one hundred dollar bills
Came home with my champion cock cut all
believe in me label,
Ruthless, and we steady be puttin' it down
Just for the love of money yeah,
For the love of the wasteland Claire,
For the love that
(Brotha Lynch Hung)
yeah and ya don't stop the Brotha Lynch in the house ya don't stop
yeah and ya don't stop hoes keep giving up that cock
'cause
the castle on the hill

One friend left to sell clothes
One works down by the coast
One had two kids but lives alone
One's brother overdosed
One's
Wall Street Journal analysis 
The rates of companies by speed Paine-Webber 
Merryl Lynch, no other than Solomon Brothers 
Banking system with my
like today

I was drivin' home
On the black top tar
Up and down this road
Like a cartoon car
Mason dixon line
Slips behind me now
Golden fields
playin backyard
So its a shame you chopped her up Lynch
But life is hard

And Im not her bodyguard
Goddamn this steak is charred
Pass me the whisky
(lynch):
Feel my nature rise, blood shot red eyes
Waitin' in your back seat, catch you by surprise
Situations and circumstances make you take them
can't leave here soon enough

Oh no 
Oh no 
This ain't what I came here for

I'm goin' up on the mountain 
Up on the hill 
Lay down by the river
two positions:
Victimizer or Victim
Both end up in destruction trusting this crooked system
Mafia with diplomas keeping us in a coma trying to own
gun up but I think keep peep this game now
To the niggas that's just gone by that fuckin' with Bone
Swing widda clip tight clan
It's all eternally
they're still staring in my grill like dentures
I fuck with Brotha Lynch's and Andre Nickatina's
Tote forties, four-fours, tens, and even Nina's
I be