Lyrics:
On second thought forget it, that one turns out kinda cool
Each and every time you have a fight
Just assume you're wrong and Dad is right
And you should
If I could write a letter to me
And send it back in time to myself at 17
First I'd prove it's me by saying look under your bed
There's a Skoal can
And if your down with the second chapter throw your hands up
Straight from the streets is where I'm coming from (straight out the streets)
With the touch
know, step by step; step by step.
You take that first step; ask her out and treat her like a lady.
Second step: tell her she's the one you're
all the dough
The scene: long beach yeah '86
Where: the liquor store nigga on some devilish shit
I went in to grab a drink but I came out a felon
here in a minute, baby
You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me
I can have another you by tomorrow
So don't you ever for a second get
Performed by minneapolis
Composed by sonny t.
M p l(l) s
I used 2 play the gig at archie's bunker
Then I up and joined the jeffersons
I was in a band
the tower. Roger, and roll, Challenger."
MISSION CONTROL (On 1/28/86 the booster rockets exploded 73 seconds later, killing all seven astronauts.)
"We
out the bowl
Before we shake your hand, we'd rather slap you with the strap
A million cash in hunnids, now they bring it to the door (racks)
Twenty K
regrets, no abortion, had a son
By the name of Seven
And he's five
By the time I do this mix, he'll probably be six
You do the arithmetic
Me do
'bout
Straight out the slaughterhouse, straight out the dragon's mouth
Fire you can't put out
Tires are standin' out
The coupe look pigeon-toed
I
made it out the trap
I woke up in Paris
In the bed, with a bad bitch (bad bitch, bad bitch)
First I roll up the lesh
Then I went back for seconds
to think it out
When a bullet goes into my scalp
Loosing blood as fast as the bullet hit
But I’m still conscious for
Another 7 seconds of regret
Another 7
your toast
By your third year in you, forgotten by most
Niggaz wife cut them out of they life, niggaz don't write
Friends actin' like they don't be
Reach out and touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Reach out and touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
what's my sign, so I threw up the 59
I'm a lord, out the 7th Ward I pick the lock on heaven's door
Feel no need to settle scores, leave pussies red
Reach out and touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your
and a second to die
It was crazy how it happened
Some niggas rolled by in the Riviera capping
All I could see was a pistol spitting rounds
And the boy was
She's not a girl who misses much.
(DR. EDISON AMOS: This second one is a right to bear arms.)
Ah. She's well acquainted with the touch,
She's well
a crack dealer by the name of peter
Had to buck him down with my 9 millimeter
He said I had his girl, I said "now what are you? stupid?"
But he tried
seven minutes for you
Seven long drawn, sixty-second sobs
Grief, a simple thing
Add water to the sorrow and wait
Darkness precipitate
Ruin my room
up in the trunk
AK-47, M-11 and a pump
Rolled by [Incomprehensible] on Scott Street
School was lettin' out
"Yo you ain't gonna shoot yet?", Watch
at least seven figures to even touch that
But since everybody was underestimatin' my format
I dropped Ill Bomb and now niggas want more of that
Ain't
.jpg/300px-30_Seconds_to_Mars,_Anfiteatro_Camerini_(2).jpg "Thirty Seconds to Mars")
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