| When I was rocking
|
| With the best of ‘em
|
| I’d puff the cess
|
| And be left
|
| Wrestling just to
|
| Bless with ‘em
|
| Undress your girl
|
| Isabella Rossalini
|
| I’m living well
|
| Richard Hell
|
| This is rap, black
|
| Bossalini
|
| Don’t tell me nothing
|
| About tussling in a ‘Lo goose
|
| Know who been
|
| Looking down on me
|
| Frowning because I’m
|
| No use
|
| My flow loose
|
| It’s fascination
|
| For motivations
|
| On presidential assassinations
|
| It takes a nation, black
|
| It takes some patience
|
| Whatever happened to
|
| Waiting, black
|
| I puff an el
|
| In the Sofitel
|
| And I’m making raps
|
| And caking stacks
|
| While they toting the steel
|
| Elysian Fields
|
| Another name for that
|
| Third Ward appeal
|
| Stealing from the breadline
|
| Won’t ever make you a thief
|
| When I’m making the headlines
|
| I’m just deadlining the beats
|
| When you’re young one
|
| Your lungs expand
|
| Brand names is hunger pangs
|
| And us love the slang
|
| Yeah, man we love the slang
|
| He holding heat
|
| Standing outside of the
|
| Dakota watch it
|
| While Holden Caulfield
|
| Just telling him
|
| When to let the Glock spit
|
| This bottle rocket rap
|
| Balaclava stocking cap
|
| Thriller spit the feeling is right
|
| Finna go knock it back
|
| I’m at the bar alone
|
| Sipping a Fin du Monde
|
| Or we tripping
|
| A thousand miles from home
|
| Telling me it’s a
|
| Terrordome
|
| Sutter Home magnum bottle
|
| Twentieth century lost
|
| And unpaused
|
| When the tape plays
|
| I slang with models
|
| Don’t get it twisted
|
| I spit it
|
| For when the people cry
|
| People die
|
| Grandwizzard Theodore
|
| Could reach the sky
|
| I-N-I rapid lights
|
| Flashing inside the Texas sky
|
| Rest of my life
|
| Paying the price
|
| Right, I’m twenty-five
|
| Mark Chapman
|
| Done made it happen
|
| But, anyways
|
| Any world that you walk on to
|
| Could’ve had any haze
|
| When you’re young then
|
| Your lungs expand
|
| Brand names is hunger pangs
|
| And you love the slang
|
| Lay colors over me
|
| You feel the waking world
|
| Move fading, fading, far away
|
| Waiting on a heartbeat
|
| You feel forsaken arms
|
| Move to your body, break away
|
| And if they dressed in black
|
| I get to battle my demons
|
| And puff the stress and rap
|
| Until I get the session back
|
| I never had that Double Happiness
|
| That you’ll be taking back
|
| Shaking from the heartache
|
| And everything that we making, black
|
| So there’s no sonograms
|
| And there’s no plasticine dreams
|
| And no Ono Band
|
| I’m on the dolo
|
| Puffing trees all alone again
|
| All on the phone
|
| Crying everything’s just a dream
|
| And so I just want to be
|
| Home again
|
| Lay colors over me
|
| You feel the waking world
|
| Move fading, fading, far away
|
| Waiting on a heartbeat
|
| You feel forsaken arms
|
| Move to your body, break away |