Lyrics:
grown
Who woulda thought I'd sell my skill for a microphone
And be rappin' about it up in the song, slidin' on some chrome
It's long money I earn,
OLD STREET SINGER
SINGS SONGS IN THE DARK
BUT WHERE ARE THE SONGS OF THE BEAUTY
THE OLD ORGAN GRINDER
HAS JUST GONE INSANE
AND HIS MONKEY LIES DEAD
and common man
But no winner
Or beginner
Can understand the battle plan
But the battle never lasts long
Even though it is an old song
And the singer
At the bottom of the caste like the middle ages
But I'll soon overthrow the king
With these songs I'm bout to sing (5)
Aggressive with every beat (4)
You don't
of thorns
King of kings
Lord of lords
Transform the beat into a song
Like water to wine
Devine intervention, and
His only message was to know yourself in
of entertainment meets the lust for blood and demerits, cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, collar pop jolly roger, die motherfucker die, apache
to the beat of the t'balo
Now dig the story and follow
For then it landed, on American soil
Through the sweat, the blood and the toil
Hear, "Praise the Lord,"
Producer, poet, singer song writer with the feeling
I split the wicket cricket team
I'm beating it like Billy Jean
It's time for heroes, libertines
fake look like some dolls
Fake like the dream like the dream sold us
Claim we free but then they hold us
Guilty by the skin we molded
American pie
as
The rail-king lay rocking
He was leaving the ground
Then he was flying like Santa Claus
Over the town where
He came to the window
Of a house by a stream
It
(Mueller)
Now the hair missing is not an embarrassing thing
Callin' any lion is the American dream like
I'm gonna blow a cone by the pool
Smoke up to many
be a singer
We be going in let a king do his thing
When I'm in the ring I'ma swing it'll sting with these bars that I bring win the championship ring
is the pound chrome Huxtable brownstone
Major paper cake by the layers
If these dudes is live I'm the created player
They callin' 'em kings when
better get cracking
Cuz they don't stop attacking
They don't stop attacking
They don't stop attacking no
Listen to the song and check the bigger picture
quitting rap now the deal went by
I started spiting verses and it felt so fine
They fuckin with my balls like American Pie
Now I’m stuntin on the beat that
'17 S550 seats and it was navy
American gangster like preacher in the 80's
Deliver pie to your door like a pizza
If you pay me
Maniac rap, these
holiday
JAM rock from europe to the uk its okay brand new weed song
Burn by yard man and americans constant weed meditation found on the grave of king
carried by six
Like a pallbearer
Then judge by 12
Like Emmitt Till
They don't promote my songs
Blocking on the Internet
Like ohhh you wrong
and the pictures you paint
Prolly sing all of your songs cause they relate to your pain
The by product of that was the money and fame
A couple real bad groupies that
a tongue of your mistakes
You a lone wolf father left abandoned by a king
Even the Rubber Maid herself, couldn't retrieve you from the bin
But that's that
[Originally performed by Black Sabbath]
Sing me a song, you're a singer
Do me a wrong, you're a bringer of evil
The Devil is never a maker
The less
Reinvent
What's the mathematic pi? (Ch-ch, ah ah)
What's humble pie? Think about it
Annunaki, chocolate Darren Aronofsky
Word in my balls, shining
you better leave
She been salty since I made that song bout lemon-pepper wings
Wasn't good at being prince, I'll be a better king
I assure the grass in
flow to create their own show
Tip toe slow below to make it past go
Kings and queens assassinated by machines
Rule the role until the hard truth unfolds
.png/220px-American_Pie_(film_franchise_logo).png "American Pie")
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