Lyrics:
of tha few in this torn nation?
Tha priest tha book or tha congregation?
Tha politricks who rob and hold down your zone?
Or those who give tha thieves
That the artist's struggle for integrity is a kind of metaphor for the universal
And daily struggle for all human beings
On the face of this
keep a "blucka-blucka"
Hit 'em all week
Give me the keys to the bubble
I'm on y'all street
And watch it go up in flames boy
Blow up tha game boy throw up
Roots to branches.
Roots to branches.
Roots to branches.
In wet and windy priest-holes.
Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets
Or in
glistening.
Roots to branches.
Roots to branches.
Roots to branches.
In wet and windy priest-holes.
Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty
Ich heiße Derrick úr
Gutentag Derrick úr
Fegyverem már nem új
Nem baj Derrick úr
Münchenen innen és túl
Innen jön Derrick úr
a Paris dress
With runs in her nylons
You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like
a Paris dress
With runs in her nylons
You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like
Going around that Jay Z and Jeezy may be
Joining forces to form a
New management company
Which will house Jeezy and his artists
Jeezy's It's Tha World
Young nigga, but been coachin' and shit
Grew up in tha hood, a nigga rose out that bitch
Since a youngin', I been ballin
Derrick Rose innat bitch
to branches
Roots to branches
In wet and windy priest holes, grand in vast cathedrals
High on lofty minarets or in a temples of doom
I hope the old man's
escape artist,
The weed in your garden in that place you’re still guarding
Where I am not a liar
I am the fighter, though not a boxer by trade
I am
to PRIEST
Yeah I got more wisdom aur kyu ho bhi na
Hai khaya sab maine parosa jo bhi tha
Got solutions jaise doraemon
But You think i m fool
Toh samjho mujhe
With runs in her nylons
You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins
Livin' on phat pockets on flat wit tha gat
Rollin' around nine deuce Cadillac
Still got my homies to watch my back
And they'll smoke ya ass if ya
He's not appreciated.
He's not appreciated.
He's not appreciated.
Drink the long draught, Dan,
for the Hip Priest.
I said drink the long
Livin on phat pockets on flat wit tha gat
Rollin around nine deuce Cadillac
Still got my homies to watch my back
And they'll smoke ya ass if ya
Come wit it now!
Come wit it now!
The microphone explodes, shattering the molds
Either drop tha hits like de la O or get tha fuck off tha
It's not the Pope
It's not the president
It's not the Rabbi
It's not the Buddha
It's not the nature man
It's not the priest
It's not the artists
It's
You know it ain't no stoppin' all tha doggs I'm droppin'
It's Friday night so everythang is poppin'
I got skin lets spin on da hand
So let tha
sixteen years old, the cop thought his phone was a glock
In the hood is a everyday happenin'
A friend of the priest say she chose out the captain
She
Yo I'm tha anti-circle
On tha mad train like a rain
That's purple I storm
Never comin twice in one form
Tha Black'll act a fool and I'm gone
Crumbs
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