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Sparks Fly Lyrics
    by Taylor Swift
    Bloody Mary Lyrics
    by Lady GaGa
    Paradise Lyrics
    by Coldplay
    Mirrors Lyrics
    by Bruno
All of my imagination
Even my self-preservation
Is yours in time

Music by Peter Furler / Lyrics by Peter Furler, Steve Taylor and Phil Joel
©©2002
Words and music by Roger Taylor
The machine of a dream
Such a clean machine
With the pistons a pumpin'
And the hub caps all gleam

When I'm
Buck & 50, I'm Ridin Shotgun with the Mac 11, this the Remix homie Stunt 1-8-7, before I lose my life, for that dime embezzled, I'll tint the window with
Mr. 305 checking in
(This the remix)
Kent Jones
Must feel good to have a worldwide hit, huh papito?
Welcome to the club
(We The Best Music
bitch when I begin to crowd around her
Then think to my thesis, caught up in a prefix
Music is premixed, the remix, with guns sounds
And gun rounds
Words and music by Roger Taylor
The machine of a dream
Such a clean machine
With the pistons a pumpin'
And the hub caps all gleam

When I'm
number anyway you were on the talcum
Powder, how's about them oranges
Moved away from home to school with big plans
By day, studied the history of music
By
yet.

If you haven't floated down the 'Ol Frio,
Heard Red Dirt music on your radio,
Eaten Cooper's down in Llano,
Then you ain't met My Texas yet.

You
yet.

If you haven't floated down the 'Ol Frio,
Heard Red Dirt music on your radio,
Eaten Cooper's down in Llano,
Then you ain't met My Texas yet.

You
psychoes, killers
Saw Divine, Goon and Chungo, Lil' Turkey
R.I.P. Tyrone, 'member no cursing front of Ms. Vercey
Big Percy, Crazy Paul, the Sledge Sisters
My
The world at my sneakers,
Gold pieces moulded with Jesus features, 
Give streets the fever from the way I spit the Ether,
Came on the scene at 19
have a National Geographic a magic
With Taylor made status and plus favored is automatic

We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
Them FreeBand niggas got all that money but BMG how we stamp them blocks
We remix bricks in Mexico you know we take a half off top
Jugg with my money
Don't bring no dutchie back homie, I prefer papers, I prefer papers
And I got love for the Nets but it's still Lakers
I turn my music up, fuck my
Patty cake, patty cake, I'm the baker's man
I bake them cakes as fast as I can
And you can tell by how my bread stack up
And disguised in this rap so
psychoes, killers
Saw Divine, Goon and Chungo, Lil' Turkey
R.I.P. Tyrone, 'member no cursing front of Ms. Vercey
Big Percy, Crazy Paul, the Sledge Sisters
My
(Silverstein/Taylor)

Stagolee he's a big bad man and he's gonna do you wrong
Now they say he shot his own sweet wife 'cause she cooked his eggs too
She's my baby girl and she relies on me
Loves me too much, won't hide from me
She knows it's shit, I've got too many flies on me
Got spies on me,
have a National Geographic a magic
With Taylor made status and plus favored is automatic

We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
when you trip, with canker sores in your whip
That's what I do, to protect my party
My goons snatch you out by your Ed Hardy, then its back to shawty
All
on the internet talking to chicks
That was sweating me off the Music Makes Me High remix
I be talking mad trash, trying to get them to laugh
See, if I click
She's my baby girl and she relies on me
Loves me too much, won't hide from me
She knows it's shit, I've got too many flies on me
Got spies on me,
Yo, see what I believe is, uh huh uh huh, 808 needs a remix

Oh Babe, is it true that your girl don't do the things I do?
Are you missin' this
have a National Geographic a magic
With Taylor made status and plus favored is automatic

We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'