It's time to cut myself out It's time to break away The only rising And I know it looks back like I'm trying to hide I'm just estatic from the morning
moment your whole life can turn 'round I stand there for a minute starin' straight into the ground Lookin' to the left slightly, then lookin' back down World feels
who push up their face and stare, and just stand But thank god tonite its a totally different affair I'm so excited and delight almost feel to take
the epilogues from the books that we have read and in the face of every criminal strapped firmly to a chair we must stare, we must stare, we must stare
back of a Contour I'm tired of faking knots with a stack of ones Having a lack of funds and resorting back to guns Tired of being stared at I'm tired
the back of a contour I'm tired of faking knots with a stack of ones Having a lack of funds and resorting back to guns Tired of being stared at I'm
heroin from Boca Niggas that'll smoke you while you staring in your postbox Only incense he enlightens when he's thinkin' While that sinks in, I got a Brinks ink pen I'm back
I do is stand here and feel my nuts, But I'm a show you what, you gonna feel my rush, You don't feel it then it must be too real to touch, Feel to touch
heroin from Boca N-ggas that'll smoke you while you staring in your postbox Only incense he enlightens when he's thinkin' While that sinks in, I got a Brinks ink pen I'm back
Yo! Yo Joint Inf' did this This right here is crazy I-I feel big! You-know what I Not, not big in the sense of weight, you know what I mean Like gaining
I'm still here in this rut Looking back on everything that we had Holding on to words that we can't take back What am I to do with the past When it's
it make you feel alone Yeah, and don't it make you wanna get right back home More news from nowhere Yeah, more news from nowhere, alright And don't it make you feel
Take me on I am the bloodstained past at last That's finally caught up with you like The glint of steel from out of the dark the last thing You will feel
unanswered past Thoughts of yesteryears Will they be revealed to the world at last? Wooden floor cracks as I take a step forward A cold breeze in back
all toe the line and swallow the lies--and our island dies. Let computers dictate our emotions--determine the way we should feel. Turn our backs to the
on the third rail Groggy eyed and fried, and I'm headed for the station D-Train ride the Coney Island vacation This one's dedicated to the boofers in the back
piece suite sits in the road Stares across the water, he sees right through the lock But on and up like outstretched hands His mumbled words, his fumbled words
