Lyrics:
Turn around and find your way
We’re a generation waitin’ on a savior
Burdened by a fear of failure
Doesn’t mean your chances are blown
Turn around
of garbage in the back
It's Graham's scrambled eggs and leftover ham
A bite of chicken nugget at the bottom of the bag
A scrappy little fucker with a target
like the RZA, like Nas, like Jay
'Cause I mastered the flow from back in the day
Respected by my peers from Drizzy to Cole to Kenny
Thank you for
When I get back home when I get back home
Looking out the window on the plane
Rain dripping on the windows to my soul
Three years now that I been
hear it while you're walkin' by a neighbor's home
You'll hear it faintly in the distance when you're on the phone
You're sittin' in a dentist's chair
Woke up on Monday to the news that Peaches was dead
Like most everyone, I thought about Bob and how he'd lose his head
You wonder how many times
shits too risky
Stomped round a few towns, and did bits and bobs, for the cash and I came back quickly
But I stopped that now for the music, living life
Fanny J. Crosby, William H. Doane / H.G. Spafford, P.P. Bliss
Arrangement By Nicol Smith, Todd Smith, Allan Hall
In English:
Pass me not, o gentle
it in the wind,
I want to go back home again,
But I can't go home this a'way.
This a'way, Lord Lord Lord,
And I can't go home this a'way.
I was
Dashing through the snow
On a one-horse open sleigh,
Over the fields we go,
Laughing all the way;
Bells on bob-tail ring,
Making spirits bright,
for y'all
And my voice is messed up too, this is the last track of Young Sinatra
Yeah, yeah
Back in the day I wasn't shit, homie
Penny pinching I
Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
Through the fields we go
Laughing all the way.
Bells on bob-tail ring
Making spirits bright
Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Laughing all the way (ha ha ha)
Bells on bob-tails ring
Making spirits
flapped long ears and didn't brush up by day
Got his long ears whittled and his old hid scorched in a most artistic way
Now one fine day old Sandy Bob he
the rat race
And these days that's a special way of life
Down home, where they know you by name and treat you like family
Down home, a man's good word
What?
Ayy, Mr Smokey, smokin' on that gas fo sho
Gotta go, cause aint got time to waste, so fuck you round me fo?
Look like cheddar bob, the way he
We get high in back seats of cars
We break into mobile homes
We go to sleep to shake appeal
Never wake up on our own
And that's the way we get
We get high in back seats of cars
We break into mobile homes
We go to sleep to shake appeal
Never wake up on our own
And that's the way we get
Coming back home
Home to my people
I hope that they didn't forget me
Coming back home
I am protected by family
I'm asking you for your blessing
are finally free
Yeah, you know that I miss you
But if you're in a better place why I would wish you'd
Be back here with me
When you're finally home
died?
What's the first thought that
Came over your mind as you drove home?
And where oh where were you
Back in high school when I was broken in two
hands on my hips and I was sucked into the woven threads
I found myself walking slowly down a back street
In the French Quarter on a hot August night
I
Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Laughing all the way (ha ha ha)
Bells on bob-tails ring
Making spirits
trophy back home
Yellin hoo ray
Hoo rah either way I want my moolah
Like it's payday
And I ain't leavin the game until I say say
It's (Tre Day) , I fuck
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