Search results for 'my prayer by 52nd street blues project'

Yee yee! We've found 91 lyrics, 112 artists, and 100 albums matching my prayer by 52nd street blues project.

Maybe some of them had hopes of seeing me again
Some even said that my judge Judge Gerald Culkin
Wouldn't play it by the book
Maybe let us off the hook
Your system don't acknowledge me
Born free
My prayer mat close to me
I’m my ancestor’s priority
Which sound is closer to God's voice then children
fields of cotton

Sing it for me loud

Sing about the Bullruns

Sing about the day

I shot my brother dressed in blue

While I was dressed in grey

I don't want to go to county jail no more more more
Its a big fat policeman at my door door door
He'll snatch you by yo collar make you pay
pops call the cops
See now I'm on the run, but still havin fun
Livin by the Mac, my gear is all black
I keep killin, because I'm ready and I'm willin
hun concentrate on my funds 
Lift heavy gats concealed by my waist 
Never get patted down when I step in the place 

Jiggied up, smoke the pot,
and mixed up is how I feel
I walk the streets with a fuck you attitude
And when it comes to my peoples you ain't half as rude
Follow the crowd or be
crime opposites attract 
My electrical shine ok Polly see me downtown 
2 blue cops wit Rollie Fingers 
We the Razor Sharp Wu-Tang singers, hum dingers
know I paid the cost for fame
To be a billionaire, the god struggled for years
Some nights I shed tears when I said my prayers
Been shot at a lot
Through rutted winding streets of Kathmandu
Dodging crowded humans, cows, dogs, rickshaws
Storefronts constellated pools of blue-white
on a day at homies
On a day at homies

I don't give a fuck 'bout no politics in rap my nigga
My lil homie Stunna Deuce ain't never comin' back my nigga
sealed in 
The projects, lifeless like a Vietnam vet 
Constant war, sever threats of enemy conquest 
Crooked cops comb my building complex that's in
of Crooklyn, type Saturday night
The gear the god was rocking type way out of sight
Limping past the projects
Seen my man, a'ight
Steelo type fat, solar type
red Rum! (x4)

[Project Pat]
A .44 bullet shell took my niggas life
Triggers pulled by some young niggas on that white
He used to fuck with them boys
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
packed (stay packed)
Once you on the bus you might not come back
To my homies doin time, keep your head up (head up)
And to my soldiers on the street
Let's put the crown where it's at
10 years
Never been done this real by nobody

To my seed, May I lead you into no greed or evil
In the categories
future in the loops I could pin
Walked out on a gig and I turned to the streets
Kept my name low key I ain't heard from in weeks
I came up wit a strategy
Scarlet Town in the month of May
Sweet William Holme on his deathbed lay
Mistress Mary by the side of the bed
Kissin' his face, heapin' prayers on his head
no shorts 
'cause we had worked together and he knew I was true blue 
Man, I swore I would never go to VA again 
Until I found out who killed my
A frustrated and confused young juvenile
King of the project blues so I choose
To take a piece of the action
But my sober state of mind won't let it happen
bitch that lied
a little time ticked by, my ho and I got rocked
my lady waking me up yelling Treach, Pac got shot
soon as I get there I find Afeni
the judge fuck the court and every bitch that lied 
a little time ticked by, my ho and I got rocked 
my lady waking me up yelling Treach, Pac got shot
lived in the ghetto)...or the projects 

But I wear my Tim boots and Hi-Tecs, and I wrecks havoc 

And if you try to play me I won't have it
the beast arise like yeast
To conquer peace leaving savages to roam in the streets
Live on the run, police paying me to give in my gun
Trick my wisdom with