away I drive off in my car But whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are And all my instincts, they return And the grand facade, so
up And all the models in the club wanna follow us It's Mr. Chevy man You hear my song playin And every time we in the club we be spending grands First
the African, oh, you wanna battle again? I'll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans Oh damn, totin two pistols like Yosemite Sam Old man be grand
It's gonna be grand when you take the hand of the liquid gang, oh yeah Peter with the heater, he's such a messy eater He's got frogs in his eyes from
Gran Gran keeps a box of spiders Says they're on me when I sleep Waiting in the out-house for me Underneath the seat Great-grandmothers 'bout ninety-
the old maelstrom, There'll be a storm before the calm. And we will all bake together when we bake. There'll be nobody present at the wake. With complete participation In that grand
when I want to run away I drive off in my car but whichever way I go I come back to the place you are all my instincts, they return and the grand facade
through the jet, sun covered - got beat walkers runnin out out the jets like faggots - got niggas sellin gats - got gangstas sellin hoes and hash for twenty-foura grand
close enough Cold Crush like the four-stinger anaconda Fierce darts that'll pierce through solid armor Lounge in the barracks with Blue and Cappadonna Spiderman identity, Peter
de toi Combinaison brutale, declinaison vocale Ambiance familiale on fait sa bien (Quoi) Tu connais l'animal aketo j'affute sa mal mal Sans maquillage ni effet speciaux Fait juste peter
I came home at lunch time I heard a funny noise Went out to the backyard to find out if it was one of those rowdy boys Stood there was my neighbor called Peter
le monde il est beau Tout le monde il est beau Tout le monde il est grand Assez grand pour tout le monde nananannananna ... nananannananna ...
the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine To set on your table your light, sparkling wine Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground From the grand
Peter does this solo entirely in french, after giving a shortened english translation. "the pacifist" (translation) Men whose names are great
believe their eyes. The animals on the cartoons Have left the screens and escaped They wandered the streets and they had Adopted their natural states. Wasn't it grand
Verse 1: peter the disciple I walk in hell, bucking and fighting, scratching and biting Throwing bows, showing gold's, and smoking dro's Drinking yak
morning sun And the people around they would clap their hands I wish we could keep it and live it again. In a Mexican dream by the Rio Grande AII the
'ma take it to the top Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (Baby) I apply pressure to pussies that stuntin' I pop Stand alone squeezin' my pistol I'm sure that I gotta Now Peter