Lyrics:
to hell's gates
'Cause there Is nothing at stake
America murda' sucka's six feet deep to their grave
Tryna put money on their daughters plate
Hustla' with
Sermon:
This is Erick Sermon one of God's children of billions
With more Hype than Williams
Maintain millions so when the world get close
I have (That I have)
I'll take a wrong and make it right
Won't let a single day go by (Grrah Grrah Grrah Grrah)
(Stand forever)
Stand together
have to be signed by a production company or be in a group? And he said, No, Asian women don't make it in America. No one buys from Asian women. This is
I wanna write the happy songs
Like brown eyed girl
Or my girl, even my guy
Something like that hat wearing
Pharrell Williams writes
Bruno mars, man
Ascension by Sacred Earth
<< Om bhur bhuva swaha tat savitur varenyam bhargo day vasya de mah dyoyo nahah ratshodayat >>
This song is an offering
where a new idea or an
old one in new form, is accepted by a minority,
while the majority is shouting treason,
rubbish, cook, communist, anarchist,
polluted everything, and now the third world's gone
The waters poisoned where I'm from the third world son
Seven hundred children die by the end 'this song
in the club wanna follow us
It's Mr. Chevy Man, You hear my song playin'
And every time we in the club
We be spending grand's
First deny Tech then
a sappy country song
A life of troubles drank Keith Whitley to death
I guess I understand his pain
So if you know any of his stuff by chance
That's what I
Even though I had
Nothing to
Nothing to say
I owe ever single song I ever wrote
To Hanson
I don't think I lived
Until I heard Smells Like Teen Spirit
rock
Well, so far you've heard my voice but I brought two friends along
And the next on the mic is my man Hank
C'mon, Hank, sing that song
Check it
By William Clarke
Why do the birds sing songs
To warm a heart of love for you each day?
Why do the breeze blow so strong
To prove the power of love
from being a slave in your mind, you're very welcome
You tell me my song is more than a song, it's surely a blessing
But a prophet ain't a prophet till
Carried by the voice
Inside the jukebox
On my grave
You can hear hank williams
Some george jones
Some beatles songs
Some dylan
Some rolling stones
Thats why i write these rhymes til it aint no ink
But
This is America, we make catchy songs about killing each other if you aint from the area
A shame im
a message in the music ain't a part of the game
A, coincidence that we livin' a lie
A, coincidence that we only get by
A, coincidence that so many are lost
Grime scene law, I stay raw
I live by the grime scene law, I stay raw
I live by the grime scene law, I stay raw
I live by the grime scene law
I live
I sing something's
that mean something's
But I
Know money come & go
When you cruise control
Thru Life
I sing some songs
You see some bling on I
But
of national security, making anti-muck
out of spread-out style. the irrational reproduction
of these impossible motherfuckers is spurred on by
you and me
When I first heard this song, I was a little boy growing up
Down in the state of South Carolina
The song had been written and recorded by a man
sends messages)
(Of hope and we need it right now)
(This song is definitely reprehensive of that)
(It was written by Charlie Chaplin)
(And, uh, for
to grow, to show
The elevation of a people built is so
Jesse Jackson, Miss America a black one
No more livin for just a small fraction
I was once told by
Unsigned Hype
'Til I was crushed by Dave Mays, almost let my pen fall asleep on the page
Daydreamin' yesterday, dozin' off backstage
I thought I saw Eazy
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