've hardly kept in touch a?? it's time for catching up.a?? Notes in his pockets, rumors in the mill. Phone calls after the bars close a?? unlisted numbers. Still, he insists on his
flush Says, ?Boy, we?ve hardly kept in touch It?s time for catching up? Notes in his pockets Rumors in the mill Phone calls after the bars close Unlisted numbers Still, he insists on his
flush Says, ?Boy, we've hardly kept in touch It's time for catching up? Notes in his pockets Rumors in the mill Phone calls after the bars close Unlisted numbers Still, he insists on his
cat, beat wid pipes poles and bats Blast wid a small gat, run, and bust till his lungs collapse And hit the corner pocket but first strip his pockets
red seats I call it playin checkers Ii??m never doing verses Ii??m forever giving lectures if youi??re tryna meet with money Ii??d be happy to connect ya life
Black Ferrari with the red seats I call it Playin' Checkers I'm never doing verses I'm forever giving lectures If you're tryna meet with money I'd be happy to connect ya Life
me life and that's plenty Get me, homie I could spend six centuries Simply saying I'm satisfied in the sensie And it's sickenin' that knowin' God ain't good
spilled milk And got your crayons wet, the room reaks of a thousand bayonettes I'll fision vision with a lie longer than your most walked meridian Connecting life
the pavement in the rain Glowing by the light of this southbound train She's shouting ?good Christian soldiers stamp their ration book with failure ?And twinkle little Stalin's hung his
feels so good to be back where I belong The streets is where I belong They had me locked down much too long Hey hey It feels so good to be back where
Yes, and you do look absolutely divine. (JOE is touched, despite his embarrassment; HE decides to give in gracefully and slips the cigarette case into his pocket
peppers black Ferrari with the red seats I call it playin checkers Im never doing verses Im forever giving lectures if youre tryna meet with money Id be happy to connect ya life
your teeth Living it up The good life for free I don't know what you want from me Don't you know I need somebody who can do me right And keep his pockets
is dead. I returned home from university, tears on his bed. On his pillow I found his suicide note and read what had happened that day and what had fucked up his
wid pipes poles and bats Blast wid a small gat Run, and bust till his lungs collapse And hit the corner pocket But first strip his pockets He shouldn'
feed the world, even if they don't want to hear it As far as Canibus go, my man is hittin' his ex-broad I'm getting head from his new piece While 20 gang
