Lyrics:
right is true
You can break on through
When love's kingdom comes
It all will be done
Don't be your father's son
They sang with fire
Led by the devil's
Now this all started in a honky tonk
Just the other side of town
A girl come in took a stool by me
Ordered gin and drank it down
She lit up a cigarette,
so dumb now?
Hunt me or be hunted
I got three hundred and fifty-seven ways
To simmer sauté, I'm the winner all day
Lights get dimmer down Biggie's
dissin' a
Unofficial that smoke Woolie Thai
I dropped out of Cooley High, gassed up by a cokehead cutie pie
Jungle survivor, fuck who's the live-r
My
(We never thought of ourselves)
Is leaving (never a thought for ourselves)
Home (we struggled hard all our lives to get by)
She's leaving home
(yeah)
Must by my clone 'cause you ain't my son
And your bitch know I shine like one
Not number three, number two, I'm one
Never took a L, 'cause I won
the old man down,
He never doubted that the rumor was real.
But there the old man stood by the store front,
With his white cane hanging from his belt.
praise
Declare the Lord is forever
Make a joyful noise in this place
One day we gon' be out man, like three strikes
And home son like a homerun CHRIST
IS
at a lower state in this life that we live here in today
In the United States of America
I love you, son, and I pray for you
God bless you, shalom
dream of telling my mama
"You ain't gotta work no more"
Same for my father, born in Ghana, down on that dirt road floor
Far as he came I can't
I'm just average, common too
I'm just like him, the same as you
I'm everybody's brother and son
I ain't different than anyone
It ain't no use
memory lies there
By passing the doors of his life was a stage I remember
And in later years he would cease to bare teeth to a stranger
For sentiment
Our father who art in a penthouse
Sits in his 37th floor suite
And swivels to gaze down
At the city he made me in
He allows me to stand
Ayy, ayy, yeah
Birds in the trap, they gon' stink by tomorrow
Servin' the Act' out a baby bottle
Don't tell me, "Shut up," you are not my boss
mother
Who loves the day but lives another
That once was hers
The worried father, long lost lover
Brushes ashes with his broom
Rehearses jokes
Our father who art in a penthouse
Sits in his 37th floor suite
And swivels to gaze down
At the city he made me in
He allows me to stand
memory lies there
By passing the doors of his life was a stage I remember
And in later years he would cease to bare teeth to a stranger
For sentiment
bust him!)
Nah fuck that I'ma hit this nigga out the window Son
(Ga head man!)
Shit shit shit don't blow it up, duck down
(Yo let me do it man,
into Joe's about six-fifteen
And I was ready to pour 'em down
Because at eight o'clock Delilah was a-meeting me there
Well I thought I would have
My mama always told me
"Son, you'd best go easy down that road"
And she said she was sorry
For all the times she couldn't save my soul
Shoulda
Uh, GOOD Music, this our year
Backing drums by DJ Premier
Now let me count it down
Who the fuck up in here
Common, Don, Old G, battle rap, oh
That
crew
Philly, soda pop
I'm gonna run down my family tree like this:
One, two, one two three and
I got a friend by the name of Charlie
Charlie got
were having a son
Their lives could not have been better
And they had only just begun
Together they arrived early at the hospital
Rose, move halves and wholes
Come down to the jungle, just ask for Hov
Move blocks and squares, move apples and pears
Work pots and pans, just to cop
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