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Search results for 'old soul by john scofield' Page #5
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the Halfway House of the Broken There's not one guilty soul to blame In the Halfway House of the Broken From where the Dear John letters are sent There's
screen like they be knowing the eternal answer to life But they all blowing smoke I thank God for helping me with all the songs I wrote The old me would
of soft Everybody know it all Nobody followin' protocol The money's only good 'til you blow it all Stacking ever since Guliani knocked John Gotti
trigger to a barrel From the bottom of your heart 'til death do you fuckin' part Do you understand to live, to lie by him Is to share your soul, Lord
trigger to a barrel From the bottom of your heart 'til death do you fuckin' part Do you understand to live, to lie by him Is to share your soul, Lord
many times my memories are worn Sometimes we’d travel right down the Green River/ To an abandoned old prison down by Airdrie Hill/ To where the air
the way that I touched her soul And its evident, that I'm far from the best and shit But i know that I'm killing it And I'm up in my element, feeling like
It used to be that old John Wayne Would fight the good fight once again, Find the strength to bear the pain, Stand up til he'd finally fall. But now
on the mic and I'm doomin em Operation: MC Intimidation Occupation: rock the place then leave relieved The masta John, large like a mastodon In charge
trees thousands of years old So I keep pushing back Until motherfuckers atone For owning my fellow beings and muting their own souls At our expense you're
Wish I had a button like reset Reset all my sins Drop to my knees and repent Now my soul is cleansed Dipped in the water like refresh I might just
somewhere... Words and music: john jack jr 2022 Dusty Boy Music/BMI ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Vocals, instruments and all other noises by john jack Each of these
True feelings and hurt I got true feelings that hurt I hide my true feelings when it hurts Soul searching I am no longer the old person They only stick
played with I'm that type of nigga If you ain't doing your old lady right I snatch right from under your fucking nose Make her feel like a natural grown
tavern By the Salvation Army And the plumbers supply The old downtown mission Has John 3:16 painted In all capital letters Above cans full of trash But
get to write I started mine many years ago Sitting at my old piano Now a few years later My piano's in a back room Out by the garage Still horribly out
Thank You Lord (Story of the Shunamite Woman) (Andrae Crouch, Arr. by John Redmon) Thank you Lord Thank you Lord Thank you Lord I just want to thank
I, woke up this morning got ready to roll Put on my green bomber it was, freezing cold Applied long johns with Adidas not matching I called up Jam
Not tryin' to meet the lost soul, at the crossroad We're bein' sucked up into the black hole Young becomes old, mighty clouds roll Unfold the scrolls
And Max Roach, cymbals socking Bass drum talking, snare drum rocking Restructuring the metaphysics of a jazz thing John Coltrane, a man supreme He was
the reason why i am the wizard My mind never clear, my heart colder than a blizzard My soul filled with art painted by van goh Is this the start to my
I met a little girl sitting in the front Pardon me miss for seeming quite so blunt But your beauty and your presence Just took me by surprise
Old Jeremiah was a wino, who lived from day to day. Still minding his own business, on the day he passed away. They found him by the pigsty, with
the guts by a broken mast of a broke down sailin' ship Well old Prince John, in his royal house coat, was a sucker for the shillin' He'd just suck his thumb
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