Lyrics:
Bob Dylan was sculptin' the silence
On the night she left forever
I listened to her footsteps goin' down
Convinced myself I would feel better
She
In the fair bay of Dublin
While carelessly strolling
I sat myself down near a clear
crystal stream reclined on the beach
In wild accents deploring
use to have above the dresser
Half the shit I wrote down I did it, its old now got
New goals, plus my money on Manute Bol
Funny how my old highs is
three steps from reality
Get up to get down, represent your town, last night
Was poppin' like like cocked Glocks with hollow-tip rounds
From booty
down
I’ll always see
The country side
That county line
My life decides
It’s where I’ll be
Roll down the glass, feel where I’m at, while my coffee’s
pass 'em the Oscar
From the new school rappers, yeah I'm the illest on the roster
Smoke like a rasta
Black and white like Bob Marley, yeah, like Bob
(If the world was a small town)
Probably would've gone to the courthouse
Have one or two babies by now
Couple little Southern angels
You'd be
keep it on me
(Call me a Florida boy)
Top down by myself, but I'm never lonely
(Call me a Florida boy)
See I ain't really finna have remorse for ya
only a glorious game
They've fruit trees growin' in an open field
And wild roses bloomin' down a country lane
Look around, old chum
Slow it down, old
DUMINICA
MARKY MARK:
PEACE
I GOT A PLEA CALLING
I SEE TOO MANY KIDS SIMPLY FALLING
IN THE STREETS
IT'S TRIFE A WASTE
OF A LIFE EITHER YOU DIE BY
beach?
Remember when that crab came up and pinched your feet
When that old guy gave us all those drinks for free
Do you still get knocked down by that
Straddling the county lines, I lift my head toward the pine
To see my hows dilapidated burned up by a cigar flaming
I run my hands through the ruins
livin' wild and living free
Living life makin' memories
Sitting back thinkin' summer days
A plain white T and an old Chevrolet
Driving fast down a county
Preacher oh preacher
I just witnessed a murder down by the banks
Preacher I think it was Dorothy
Shackled and bound without a sound
The cold creek
hardly
Yeah, I said old as iCarly
Three little birds told me and Bob Marley
That we'd need to head to the creek with Chris Farley
Yeah, I said down by
Turn it down nigga, hot shit
Yea
Messenger in the Metropolis, apocalypse here and now
Niggas know the ledge, so they don't come near the style
I
to spit that, HOT SHIT
Huh.. whoo! Yeah..
Turn it down nigga, HOT SHIT
Yeah.. (oooh)
Messenger in the Metropolis; +Apocalypse+ here and +Now+
Niggaz know
can't tell
But still, you gotta be careful
Dudes be so scared they cop pleas by the earful
V personally favors, "please don't kill me"
Empty out
years old thugging
Shoot, I said who we, we don't even speak
DJ Cannon blamming in the middle of the street
Come on
I go hard
See me running down
me thinkin' was it worth this
And then it got me thinkin' cause I love this
Stay down and it'll work ya self at time don't be a slave by these choices
a child now (look at that)
A baby momma and a bow-wow
My nigga know you need to calm down
F-for County run up in your house
But you don't wanna hear that
raided the dope spot, eight year old kid got shot
'Cause they mistook his BB gun for a Glock
And I ain't forgot about the homie Lano
He got killed by
and engineered by Chris Rosser
Drums engineered by Nick Ace Lutz at County Q, Nashville, TN
never seen
She's in the diner by five o'clock
Playin' Elvis on the old juke box
Staring out the window at nothing in sight
As she sings 'Are you
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