Lyrics:
I am a freeborn man of the traveling people
Got no fixed abode, with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and byways were always my ways
Never fancied
You better set your house in order
For you must surely die
He turned to the wall in weeping
We see him here in tears
He got his business fixed all
The heart is the general, the eyes are the scouts
The fists are the arrows, the body is the bow
All movements have to be manual
I'm the 7 in
Got a birthday card at Christmas... it made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, "I love you" in small letters. I simply had to read it twice.
Wood
to Bergdorf, spend a small bag
Look at my back, Chrome Heart tags (woah)
Louis V like I'm Virgil, got the all-white, told the bitch Off that (let's go)
Poured
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
It's the ten wife commandments
I wrote me a manual
A step-by-step booklet for you to get
It's the ten wife commandments
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
It's the ten wife commandments
I wrote me a manual
A step-by-step booklet for you to get
It's the ten wife
Sporting effects
In a small black reptile
Broadened at the shoulder
And the swing at the hips
Room for a big fish
A crack of whips
Demander
to the ground. It fell without a sound. Lynette took up with a man whose business was the boulevard, whose smile was fixed in a face that was never off guard. In
to get her fixed
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
And she would run,
to get her fixed
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
And she would run,
I was born inside a small town, I lost that state of mind
Learned to sing inside the Lord's house, but stopped at the age of nine
I forget when I
be fixed, we're outta time
Time, oh yeah
Oh yeah (oh yeah)
Oh yeah
Oh yeah
Oh yeah, yeah
Oh, turns out I don't
Know, know you, no, not
what's wrong?"
So he took a square of paper
That he cut out of the Avery Evening News
'Wanted, manual labor
At the grocery store on 16th Avenue'
Stock
We don't need a clique
To make our clock tick
Our clique is the world
The world is our clique
We don't have to fit
In your fixed trip
Our clique is
secret
Lord lift up these lifeless bones
Light cascading through the windows
all the rainbow's heavy tones
He has fixed his sign in the sky
He has
unnoticed, 'til the cloth begins to tear
One small grain of salt in water, at first is not so hard to bear
Out of an hour or day you're born to play your
Got your hair and nails fixed, you legit with it
I see that you done got cocky, throw a fit with it
I say I bet you can't do it with some dick in
Man I run this rap shit
Get your hands up high, hands up high, hands up high
Rest in piece to Biggie Smalls
Get your hands up high, hands up high,
In one small amusement park
What placed in the dark
Little girl, noisy little bit
Underground, under feet
In
One
Little girl, Little girl
Harder,
Small town high in the mountains
The only hospital in this area
No permanent surgeon
Late care caused some death
These incidents brought us
she don't come with a manual?
If she did I would have fixed it all
Is everyone as impossible as me?
Is she?
Let's get all
Autodidactic
Don't have
older
And he knew how to climb over walls
Then the bombs came down on my small village town
As I looked around, it was gone
Mama called our names,
metal Gods
From a casting line
From a factory in Mumbai
Some manual labourer's bread and butter
And a single-minded lie
Small metal Gods
Cheap
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