Lyrics:
started picking
everybody rocked and rolled
I have spent all the egg money
corn and cotton I have sold
I'll mortgage my old homestead
stay in town
and hit the coat check
Lyft outside, "Buenas noches"
Now tell that motherfucker, take us back to the homestead
Now take your shoes off in here
We
water
Wood becomes bone
Now back at the homestead
Where the air makes you choke
And people don't know you
And trust is a joke
We don't even have
death in his eyes to know you're alive.
European homesteads grew up in the colonies with civilized plans for wild hinterlands, their guns and God
water
Wood becomes bone
Now back at the homestead
Where the air makes you choke
And people don't know you
And trust is a joke
We don't even have
John, Nick and Laurie
The No Jets Construction for setting
Me down a homestead on the farm
Mud Slide, I'm depending upon you
Mister Mud Slide Slim
sister
Chances are she is an avid OF listener
And when we exit she will proceed to exit with us
To the Homestead Suites to drink liquor
Party all
on the mix
I do it out of my head-n, from hear to Homestead'n
Or even Belleport cause it is my sport
{Cool V cuts "I'm the BizMarkie, yo known for beatbox
through him on my shoulder took him to the homestead
laid him on my couch, cooked him pizza rolls
opened up his mouth, stuffed them down his throat
in the fortress between ya legs
Body bags hanging on the hills hoist
With a peg as the stench orbits the homestead
Rotting flesh odorous
The grim
It's so nice to live here
I'm glad this is my home
I've got a homestead on Baltimore Street
It's someplace to call my own
It's all kinds of people
Construction to send me down homestead on a farm.
Oh, Mud Slime, I'm depending on you.
Mr. Mud Slim on the blue horizon.
I've been letting the time go by,
up
Then we leave from the bar
We go to the homestead
Get a six pack and turn on the tv
Roll a joint and toke it to the head
Then when the munchies
I'm goin' where the water rolls, Moses knows the way
To my old homestead where the lights I trimmed and burnin' 'til day
Where the singin' river
On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away
Written by Paul Dresser
Composed by Paul Dresser
'Round my Indiana homesteads wave the cornfields,
In
Seminola niggas, Bahhas, Hialeah niggas, Matchbox, Wynwood niggas
Richmond Heights, Perine niggas
Homestead niggas, Florida City niggas
Overtown niggas
years
He's still living on that homestead in the house that he was born in
And I sure wish I could go see him today
He never drove a new car though
war now, for the cash we took their lives
Back here on the homestead rich on peoples wives
We're eighties bounty hunters with comical ineptitude
The old homestead where your mama was raised is gone|Those hills we all remember as mountains don't seem so tall|Anything that doesn't move is
a homestead playground
What is my name, what is yours?
Do we own these things, what has it all been for?
Flytipping on the road of course
Shiny things
trunk popped
From that Homestead to that Spice Lane, I'm on Scott, in the turning lane
I'm headed straight to that Timmy Chan's, order up and let's get
to the homestead piece
Back in the caprice took a sack of weed and crumpled it inside a conyak blunt rack
Then it's time to jump back on the highway 85 slumpin' in
boys is talking bout, we wipe boys down
In South Park on MLK, on Sunday we clown
From the streets of Antoine, to the Homestead hoods
From Mo City
Hard times comin' so the messenger said
Better guard your liquor like your own homestead
Took it under cover, then we took it underground
In
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