Lyrics:
a song where we killed the superstar
People talk, just let them talk, we're better than that
Would you meet me in a high of Saturday night?
People
a song where we killed the superstar
People talk, just let them talk, we're better than that
Would you meet me in a high of Saturday night?
People
they see me now) yeah
I'm steps away, I can't stop now (I can't)
No, I won't let you waste my time (yeah)
Surrounded by some millionaires (oh-whoa)
unsaid
Twenty-four hours just go by, God bless
'Fore we let the ghost get away
One last communion, babe
So I let it go, nobody else around
Couldn't
hundred miles away I never know what I should say
Let's talk about the 7-11
Let's talk about our mutual heaven
Let's talk about the lovely weather
Let's
Sooner then later, I know the cheddar gon' come
For now I write the world letters to better the young
On tree by jury, together we hung
Now we let our
have a little talk with my Jesus
Please let us tell Him all about our troubles
He will hear our faintest cry
He will answer by and by
Now when you
Heaven
Now don't you be afraid
We can always talk about
No need to medicate
Cause I know you're strong without it
You got me through the days
When I
talk about my race on the whole first album
But black vs. white bullshit was the still the outcome
How come these motherfuckers can't seem to let it
thang here
Check this out y'all
We stay on point like Stacey Adams
24 hours a day 7 days a week can ya dig it
That's real talk baby
You know what
this money on you (so so so much money)
Let me see you back it up
Make love with your eyes
Don't say a word
Talk with your body baby
Make yourself heard
this money on you (so so so much money)
Let me see you back it up
Make love with your eyes
Don't say a word
Talk with your body baby
Make yourself heard
faintest cry He will answer by and by
Now when you feel a little prayer yarning As a heart unto heaven is turning
And You will find a little talk with Jesus
One - thug in the club, two - models to go
Three - bottles of Arma', four jars of dro
Five shots to draw, my six hits took off
Seven you make Heaven
makes it right
Now let us have a little talk with Jesus
Let us tell Him all about our troubles
He will hear our faintest cry
And He will answer by and by
Hi, it's Baby Kaely and I just wanna talk about the kids at Sandy Hook
I am so, so sad about what happened to them
Now they're up in heaven
Now
Chorus: P.R. Terrorist (9th Prince)
Yo yo, y'all niggas talk rubbish, we Wu-Tang publish
(Yall niggas try to dub this the Gods serving justice)
Know your place, no credit
Ima come first
And second through 7th
Real pain don’t hurt
Every scar is a blessing
Ya get it?
was a pick me
Till I realized she just match my fly brown sugar Sidney
Fogging the windows in car washes by 7 eleven
Elevate her drop her on top to 7th
talk me
Are they surprised by what we see?
Like the tables and the tides turn
back on my bed the emperor worn
Is that enough for me, could it be?
hate and we do what we do
Let 'um talk to you in the face
Only because we blew up in they face
If was Bone hurtin'
If that was the case
I'll
want to play? (Get funky) [Repeat]
Band!
(Now)
Sixty seven, sixty seven
Freaks dance like they in heaven
DJ don't stop the music, DJ don't stop
life?
And the star life and the heaven it bring?
When It all goes down, that's down the drain
Give it to the most high, he devour pain
Hard for
They don't support the boy like Kristen did in 7th grade
Or dap me when I'm seen in public like her nigga Jade
Somehow I always feel the music ain't
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