Lyrics:
that we shared the
Same musical tastes so
We asked them to join our band
It was some of the greatest
Times of our lives playing music in
Taylor’s
]- The way he sticks it in, and takes his time
[Fatal]- Nasty new, PYT, dem come for free
Verse two
You know I love it, when you got the thong in
when I
in the arms of any other person
though I will try.
Again I'll deny
the blanketing sky,
the thing I just realized
for probably the millionth time,
that
rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
Yeah, help him on the stage now, put that microphone in his hand.
Think hard, think right nothing in his mind
yeah (yeah)
Singer* ohhh
(one more time)
Singer* ohhh
(uh huh)
Singer* ohhh
(where we at?)
Singer* ohhh
(AZ)
It's been official best wishes I send
us, Maranatha
They ask me how I'm doin' I
Say "better than I deserve"
'Cus I got the medicine, I was in sin sick
Now I'm walking upright, like... swerve
Nighttime drive-by, singers lullabies
Bigs askin' about songs they can't identify
Down in Alabama, baggin' grams of yams
Got dozens of killers under my
it, want the smell to linger
Your man 'bout to find out how I'm secretly a singer
[VERSE1]
He pulled up in the ghost
White like Casper, I don't wanna
to get me a hole-in-one to remind me of life when I go off
Homocidal thoughts, bodies outlined in chalk by the time it's dark
Dahmer signing his name
the shepherd
Era também cantor
Was also a singer
Criava versos e poemas de amor
Creating verses and love poems
Com sua harpa a tocar
By playing his harp
Assim
us, Maranatha
They ask me how I'm doin' I
Say "better than I deserve"
'Cus I got the medicine, I was in sin sick
Now I'm walking upright, like... swerve
to Christina
'Cause if I ever stuck it to any singer in showbiz
It'd be Jennifer Lopez, and Puffy, you know this
I'm sorry Puff, but I don't give a fuck if
Jazz singers and some jazz records pops into
Blasting it every chance given his living
Jazzhole I was back in it 07'
Terna working shifts blast records
There's a deeper wisdom in the singer's eyes, a life shaped by the road
His voice is raspy, he never got fame, and his face looks a little worn
It's more
Oh ah
He found his purpose in art, but he didn't know where to start
Do you want to be an actor, he wanted to be a singer
He wanted to be a dancer
letter that she wrote
He can calm a newborn baby
Saved his own life in a flood
Been tied up by Chinese pirates
Spent the night in his own blood
to niggas, perfect your own speech
Shit is copper, it ain't worth the mic stands
Used by backup singers in Atlantic City bands
Niggas look on, and get
'em up
I don't be givin' a motherfuck, red dead bodies in this truck, time to get another truck
This is my last time, sicker than the ass virus
It's
of
his God. Lately though, he had been visited by many
temptations in his dreams. Promises of pleasure,
riches and power raced through his sleeping mind.
as maturity is not produced in one day
Neither does Christ's Good News make all things new in one age
God still saves, one by one
Day by day, played out on our
punch counter, in bunches out of anger
I once encountered a stranger in a dumb gown
Black hoodie with a scythe, I laughed in his face, spit
Bi- gave me
as I punch counter, in bunches out of anger
I once encountered a stranger in a dumb gown
Black hoodie with a scythe, shit, I laughed in his face, spit
The kid heard the word up in Brooklyn.
It was his second year of medical school.
He went and stashed some jeans into his guitar case,
His father
player is
Their guitars won't stay in tune
The singer uses Autotune
They don't even know how to play their song
And i still don't know who the bass player
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