Lyrics:
Check, il y a vraiment personne autour, who ?
J'suis seul partout, j'ai fais le tour
Du coup qui va m'en vouloir si j'prends tout ?(yeaaah)
J'en ai
Young and Thuggin
On a mission I ain't
In a Good Position
My pockets in need of
Dead Men No One
Livin'
By any means I'm a
Get it I ain't trippin'
Cause I
a hotel room and lose the key
Well come sit by the fire
With me
We told ourselves we'd walk like rich men
Walk down the city streets that we grew up in
Eyes fiery red, feet made of brass
12 men following me, it be the god staff move
Eyes fiery red, feet made of brass
12 men following me, it be
the ship comes apart at the seams
Got 'em, shit gets pulled to the bottom
By a group of men and women holdin' ropes
With large hooks on the ends
to Boot Hill
Walk up to the fence there and look at the view
That's where they were hanging eighteen eighty two
It's easy to see where the brave men
The top rich 1% versus the bottom poor 99
To all minorities
To all minorities
Disgusted with the status quo
Disadvantaged
By class disparities
To every
peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good league hence,
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint
Two men sittin' in straight back chairs
Feet propped up on the railin'
Sittin' in front of the country store
Discussin' how the crops were failin'
Ei la meg by deg på no vestkantkunst
Gutta lighter opp og trekker det vi kaller for sunt
Både grønt og brunt
Alle andre er på grunt vann
Stygge feite
is he?
Where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes's
peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint
Yonder peasant, who is he, where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain,
Right against the forest fence, by
peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint
20 soon
And someday maybe 30 too
I was born in '99, but raised by blink-182
We're so punk and we're so cool
I'm so drunk when I'm with you
I'm
yeah I went blind
Now I peek over the fence, live for the beat, now we transcend high
Condolences to my apologies, you went and swept under the mat
YOUNG FLANKERS ARE HARD TO COME BY
I hail from west Texas where the cowboy's still king
And that's all that I wanted to be.
I'd watch 'em ride by
sets free
Is forever free indeed
I was saved by the grace of God
I was chosen and I'm called
To become a fisher of men
Telling folks to go and repent
I
with different type of shooters
Difference is if he get injured he switch teams ride the bitch
Difference is if I get injured, I'ma go behind the fence
Into the courtroom my trial began
Where I was handled by twelve honest men
Just before the jury started out
I saw the little judge commence to look
the other one lacks it
Guns are power controlled by assets owned by financial forecasters
Who are the masters? They are the gangsters, they are the bankers
ship to Robin Hood
He will cleanse the senses; he will strip you of pride
He will tear down fences; you will feel so alive
As you steal from rich men
I'ma back my brolo, we never fence, I'll leave you in a drench, uh
Grown men try act tough, fill 'em with cents
Check the crime scene, it's a ments,
the mountain,
Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain.
Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pinelogs hither
Thou and I will see him
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