Lyrics:
After the war I went back to New York
A-After the war I went back to New York
I finished up my studies and I practiced law
I practiced law, Burr
money 'cause I finance my own campaign.
I ain't for sale.
I keep a fat bankroll in my pocket baby,
Big as a hay bale, yes sir
Now I want
you hold me right
You are my sun when I need light
You let me grow you let me shine
I've been on my own
For way too long I lost my sight
But you were
While you dream
Separately
Saint John
Help me see eyes
Not bodies that merely reflect the light
You said the only heart you have to break is your own
But
That’s my job, tell em stop
Keep your demons in the loop, tell em call me if they want
Yeah you’re gone, off that Jack and that John
No it’s not for
of but it's my family now
We can be cool and we can be friendly and we can have our own unconventional family
The only thing that matters is Caleb himself
soprano, so we gon' leave on a high note
Come out my shell like Rafael, and crack yours like a taco
Lil Wayne tougher than John Wayne
Make him change his
Yo I'm the first man standing upright holding a stone in my hand
After beating an ape claiming the land
Taking the stand and feeding my fam
Back
Oh my god, like
I don't even understand why you don't even give me
Any energy anymore
Like I just want to talk to you
Like what's going on?
Don't
called down her merry men
By one, by two, by three
John Barbary was once the first
But now the last came he
Oh will you take my daughter Jane
And wed her
move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others."
"It's the last great adventure left to mankind"
- Screams a drooping lady
it's on for the simple fact I let it be known
We still fly but separately cause now I, charter my own
Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa
by
The music
No, I don’t know the words to my own song
I always get ‘em wrong
It’s so embarrassing
Yeah, I just make it all up as I go along
Sort
I own a mansion, but live in a house
A king-size bed, but I sleep on the couch
I'm Mr. Brightside, glass is half full
But my tank is half empty,
2' o clock I'm in the booth, I'm finna let that demon out
Old hoe like to be in my phone no John Cena, can't see me now
Stalking on the block, we
She'd say, "Son you gotta make your own name"
Yeah
Momma told me this shit won't come by easy
I gotta work like John Lennon just to get to Carter IV
I own a mansion, but live in a house
A king-size bed, but I sleep on the couch
I'm Mr. Brightside, glass is half full
But my tank is half empty,
don't stop, I move this work clockwise
I got my own bizness, I call this shit tha Franchise!
I got them bricks for the high and the purp by the pound
it reigns hot
Making necks snap back, like a slingshot
E hustle, and muscle my way in
Then tussle for days in, on my own with guns blazing
Not for
snatched by more Germans
Europeans are seein me bleedin, jet off in
the Lex skiin, goggles, Louis Rich Sweden
[Method Man]
I dig my life experiences, wrap
get mine
You cannot blind me, addicted to a life of crime (hmm)
My time as shorty was full of car chases (woo)
While runnin' with John Gotti's
more because
I love the smell
Of my own farts
And I love creating
And I love trying
To get better
And then
When it's kind of good
It gives me that
hand
To stop em' that a man to stand up even add a camera
They won't be James Holmes, and they won't be Adam Lanza
A John Malvo, I'll flow loud for my
stayin' in Chicago, I had my own apartment
I be doin' like just beats for local acts just to try to keep the lights on
And then to go out and buy, get
_(cropped).JPG/212px-John_Newman_(49)_(cropped).JPG "John Newman")
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