Lyrics:
This virulent strain, by man created
Begotten by pestis and mentally devolved into procreation
We spread disease
Pathogenic choul, a miscreation
Go and get my offspring back
Reset them - return them to the pack
I need them in my fleet again
Their absence causes me real pain
Seven of my
neither in this cell
Nor in my heart
Only in my head
Yeah, some motherfucker told me um
I needed to stop dwelling in the past
Deafened by
Offspring of one mother
Earth's woven weave
Lines of color & rage
Problems with how we breath
Somewhere with false thoughts & freedom
lives
and evil will clash
So I twirl my moustache
Walking down Market Street
When I'm swept off my feet
By a girl I must meet
God, she makes my heart beat
I ask
Yeah, what you critics said would never happen
We dedicate this album to anybody people said couldn't make it
To the fans that held us down 'til
"By And By The Way"
words and music © Grant Maloy Smith
From the album APPALACHIA: AMERICAN STORIES
Deep in contemplation
Praying in my hands
Lord
she scream
What a haughty arrogance
Shakes my bowels
Not even a repentance
The rivers are coloured by an ancient crimson
The waters become an unhealthy
their land
The offspring of evil, army of the Tyrant
Hordes of darkness driven by His will
Destroying and killing for more than the thrill
A battle most
the spray of lead
count the bullet holes in your head
offspring sent out to cry
living mandatory suicide
suicide
holes burn deep in your chest
raked by
well about heartbreak
An everything in between
This album is a compilation of songs
Written and produced by artists Kurt Danger
And Bradley Walton
From
How you doing, Redman, I'm Dr. Trevis
Okay, my papers show that you strangled a white male by the name of a Mr. Van-Allen
At a rap concert, matter
This is music to be murdered by
Got a premonition
I feel the end is near
The beauty starts to fade
My joy has turned to pain
I hear the symphony
and Crystal do but Crystal's single
Bonnie's broke and her niggas too (ha)
I can do bad by myself
Went from rags to wealth
From Jags to Bentleys to, plenty ass
to saddle up the Tontos cause I'm the Lone Ranger
I eat dinner with Jews but don't talk to strangers
I'm just a few albums from filling your disc changer
If
Murphy's Law
Generation X—will I ever be your ex?
Flaws of a baby step', mauled by the mouth a bit
Pause, put me under stress, crawled under rocks,
Its bad boy, baby
We go by the name of q, mike, slim, daron
And this is part three
You know, like the third album
Like the third time we been here
the suicidal whirlwinds of its carrying plague
Cursed inheritance to the blind servants
Dying offspring of the fallen creator
Taste of poison of its own
When nothing is left to take…
Then he´ll move away
and leave his offspring in charge.
Baboon was sent by God to set us free.
He jumps all around yelling
Yeah, what you critics said would never happen
We dedicate this album to anybody people said couldn't make it
To the fans that held us down 'til
Yeah, what you critics said would never happen
We dedicate this album to anybody people said couldn't make it
To the fans that held us down 'til
Davis - piano, Big Bill Broonzy - guitar
Willie Dixon sbass and Charles Saunders - drums
March 28, 1947
Album: Complete Recorded Works Vol 5
October 19,
never even called me by my name
You don't have to call me Waylon Jennings
And you don't have to call me Charlie Pride
And you don't have to call me
When he ask me why I was swerving, "I'm high, officer."
I can make it bounce by myself
I can make it bounce by myself
I can make it bounce by myself
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