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Search results for 'black box ii by scorn' Page #9
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if I pull out some heat, nigga, you gon' kick in (kick in) And that's just the rules set by the fool from the old school When it's time to duel, you
stretching, lounging with the killers Learning life lessons wife stressing Praying to God that no shots wet him (Brr) Cold locker by the lake Big chopper by
wearin' cement shoes And Uncle Tom niggaz wanna see me locked up to Around the same time KRS was writin' Black Cop I was busy tryin' to pump cracks in
a metal box to imitate security there's a blue sky over me but the fear is on me. In a place where ball games are strictly forbidden luxury two bedroomed
been, I've been workin But sounds makin danger, and black birds chirpin A real Damian, Omen possessed by the devil You dig the rhythm, and I'll play
Freedom of Speech and said My name every two minutes Man wanna go to the mountain Go to shows on a tour bus Next time make an album Not a CD fulla war dubs
the way I come in with my crew they hate the way I ain't lose they hate a nigga be true they hate a nigga be buying his shit by the 2s buying his shit by
tonight But that's all right, that's okay I could've taken the easy way I could've lift it up shut it up put it in a box I could've turned around banned
demons dwell The Descent to the Underworld Pleasures consumed by the fire The Scarlet gospels take control Church of Hell, palms of black The Scarlet
a suit and a black face mask I ejaculate in champagne glass Your precious flesh is so mysterious Pierce your nipples with two long needles Like
all black like the omen Kim said it, yup, BIG wrote it So I'm feeling like a Greek God when I quote it Lightyears ahead, but I was caught up in
I tell em, I say One yourself when 2 niggas run up with 3 gats A four, five, six shots Seven like eight claps Da nine milli throw ten shots Where ya
, hit the box raw I’ll be honest, shit Times is feeling two pc Dial up my kin Tell em cop a couple tabs Cop a couple caps Pop em, popping off I’m finna
really get: A box of Newports, and Puma sweats ("damn!") Tex feeds and frowns upon Emus To give up Gas Face he drinks from a Thermos Sub Roc cut
on em But another victim died of vain for em, slain Two hundred and fifty crashed in the plane And the only thing that survived was the black box They
A lamp A willow tree Two lovers in peril A key to a lock that is also somewhere abouts A bobbing, brown box of tea Bits of old songs; a cat, one
serious Ha (it's the Roc) yeah, yo Let's go Post Positano, Hov' hanging with Bono U2 can live like Salvatore Ferragamo And you, too, can cool out
now getting flocked to by these woman The type to take me home and Topple they traditions Her white family was hoping she would stay away from niggas
Saw you on the disco floor grooving like a ghost Haunted by your lovely sway you left me wanting more I was hitting my two-step in my checkered shoes
Caller, DTI, Top Producer, Pulse Eskimo Fuckin' Widda Team My two lips said "You don't wanna See a nigga on the scene" Go on then, what d’ya mean, what d’ya
I had three donuts and two cups of coffee But that didn't stop my appetite I had only eaten a box of cookies very late last night I had ten
you, look through to Inner cities the rich won't move to The nice parts, they well-protected by a vanguard The opposite of how these concentration camps
here by Is no longer there i see 'cause now I Look on the street every day And I see all these young men Standing on the corner It used to be you could
a metal box To imitate security there's a blue sky over me but the fear is on me. In a place where ball games are strictly forbidden luxury Two
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