Grandpa gor trapped in the walls of mist He tried to flee and measure out the view from his braincloud But the higher he climbed, the more they dragged
Fly, fly fly with the gale to where the four winds blow Rise and rise until you've found it If man got no hopes, then man got no love Please Mr. Sage
Clink, clink, clatter, rattle The penny dropped Iconized, though slightly slouched he Raised both his arms, raised his head Outside the cabinet there
December will be magic again. Take a husky to the ice While Bing Crosby sings White Christmas. He makes you feel nice. December will be magic again
Yeah it's magic Uhh, Jay-Z and Lenny Kravitz And it's a Heavy D Production you bastards Come on Ha hey yo stop playin' man This is real serious Ha it'
up There's no sign on the road so I never stop Can you catch me? Yeah, yeah, yeah You'll never catch me, ay, ay, ay I'm fresh out the box, fast like
ve stolen all the magic Took my melody Little By Little Turned so nasty now The dark's there The pillar of my soul The last one out of the box The one
can hit it twice I am the baddest chick Shorty you don't believe me Then come with me tonight And I'll show you magic What? What? Magic, magic I got the magic
of love, of love My magical mystique, finding it all complete In your lovely face Feelings we try to chase, memories that won't erase Stay forever new We have a magic box
do you have?" He says, "All I got right now Is this box of one dozen Starving crazed weasels." I said, "Okay, I'll take that." So he hands me the box
alone Hell, I had to hit ya cell phone I left you a message, it went like this "I love you, mmmuah!" I guess it's my luck, I goes to the Magic Damn,
And threw me in a box when she had had enough Now the light of day I no longer see She stuck her voodoo pins where my eyes used to be Accidentally tragic Victim of her black magic
on Due to difficulty, my style flows while it travels across the planet In 48 Hours like Nick Nolte Droppin' the flavor, stay sky high like Pager I'm magical
rappers' heads, makin' a sam-a-wich Think I'ma turn into and put a bullet inside of a Motherfucker from Westside, a 1987 box I'm headed up, yeah, headed
cold true shit; in the booth with blue lips On your grave like a tulip, in the bar like a pool stick 8-0-8 Toomp shit, Magic Mike, poof bitch! Ain't nowhere
sellin' artist in rap While I'm sittin' back in my office, jackin' off to my plaques I'm still sick, how can I be sick this long And I'm still alive, Magic
Stick up a Kim Kardashians ass And make the bitch run a triathlon Are those pistachios? Damn I'd like to have some Laying on the patio, man rolling a fat one Shady drop the magic
sellin' artist in rap While I'm sittin' back in my office jackin' off to my plaques I'm still sick, how can I be sick this long And I'm still alive, Magic