Lyrics:
by the father so we could be sons and daughters
Our lives were changed, the savior reigns
No longer bound by sin and shame
Our lives are free
me for all my sinnin'
I'm doin' it for my kids, I'ma keep winnin'
My son 11 years old, already talkin' millions
By the time he 18, he on his own
church come on and sing
If you've been washed by the water
Your old came up new
If you're a son or a daughter
Go on raise up a hallelujah
Got joy in
these atrocities
And now we all must beg for their forgiveness
Deaths
That mark a painful past
Bodies buried in mass
Unmarked graves have no voice
They
soul
Lord, I need help fighting these devils
Play with me, he gotta go
Go pick a grave and get a shovel
Get in the grave
I'ma help you get there
people
Make it deep in that cold cold ground
Then gather around all you kind friends
And see this poor rounder go down
And when I'm dead and they buried
homework better be finished, I beat yo' ass
Yo' teachers better not be bitchin' 'bout you in class
That pizza better not be wasted, you eat it all
That TV
went to the river
My sophomore year was a carbon copy of the ones that came before
Until that night in late November that shook us all down
and mastery
The ultimate form of treason is the treacherous use of reason (the treacherous use)
Employed by the bastard sons of American fore-fathers who keep
Overloaded
Entropy buried me
In a broken body
Stagnant and cold
Completely alone
Hypermanic
Entranced by the warmth of a casket
Acid flashback
Knife
shame
Throw away all your stones
Find forgiveness in Me
Let Me be your new passion
My daughter, you're free
Follow Me
Follow Me
Follow Me
Follow Me
bones by our fires
And drink to the days
Let the years roll in and drown our yesterdays
Born on our knees we all long
For a fawn to sooth and calm
I've been thinking about us
I've been turning round and round
Even buried my head in the sand of the holy land
That claims my name
And I'm not
I'm gone and at my grave you stand
Just say God's called home
Your ramblin' man
I heard Steve singing 'bout
Montgomery in the rain
And odds are up,
Grafted in by grace
You call us
Sons and daughters
Oh what a Love
Father You have lavished on us
Holding nothing back
Oh what a King
You have given all
tomb
Unravel those graves clothes
They’re not meant for you
We call dry bones to life
Dead hearts to beat again
All sons and daughters to rise up in Him
This perspective is a real one, another lost Ville son
I dedicate these words to you and all the other children
Affected by the mass incarceration in
From white to black, even magnoli-all
To hit 'em in project halls
In back of the streets maybe right in front of y'all (ha ha ha)
Timb' and Bubba is
to your grave
That clip up on that chopper may get you, ay
I'm Mister Bang-Bang
My son'll get you on the muscle
And take all of your money, fuck your hustle
oughta send them all
Back where they're from
And he said would you let
Your daughter marry one
He said I hate them folks
With freckles in my sleep
They're
for all your sins
Die - consciousness devoured by a cell of soil
Die - punished and doomed as a liar
Die - hope shall be buried with maggots to coil
buried
And I will bleed upon you grave
Toil and trouble
We burned all bridges unbeknownst
Magic isn't free
Time it turns
And all those treacherys are gone
most, but not for me
I'll count minutes of sweet promenade as a victory
And it's time to sing in tomorrow
To dance with your daughters and sons
Oh,
''Cause my friend Jimmy woke up mid-air
No time to smile, no time to wave
They buried him in a media grave
We all love tragedy, it loves us too
It's
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