programmed robots stand in line scared to take a step ahead frightened by our dreams. Our existence in the strangers hand take it back cut the strings
with raw, my stock is more The General, watch your board Raekwon: Deep pockets with the eight on me, sleep with the safe in the wall The cameras on
star Bitches, bitches, bitches I'm fuckin' with these out of town bitches Bitches, bitches, bitches We fuckin' with these out of town bitches Bitches, bitches, bitches We fuckin' with
playing with you old grand pubas Peace out Rolando ran things with no [?] Now take a picture of this 8 ball sipper Look down at my shoes blue strings
blood He's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train The saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain Roadhouse corn done cut his strings
strings we tied I cut you loose you're not a man to me, you're not a man to me Itsy, bitsy spider climbing on the wall Better watch your step on in
't move 'cause I'm a representative Live for the street, ask, you die in the war 'Member that blast that three atcha, hide in the wall We gangsta, republicans with
drink Listen to the guitar playin' Listen to the guitar playin' Now to many people this tune is like fazin' Get the crowd dancin' with the funkiest persuasion Hypnotizin' suckers with
but then i made it to the ceiling and every wall could hear me. And if these walls could talk, they prolly cry the the strings on a guitar. And see you, you with
my knees Where I was hit at the hip, between the cup and the lip As I was struck down under with lightning and thunder As she cut all the strings that
Because I'm number one, competition is none I'm measured with the heat, that's made by sun Whether playin' ball or bobbin' in the hall I just writin' my name in graffiti, on the wall
bloody images of tha tools that bury me. Skeletons they walk with me, while holding my right hand. My mother be weepin' N cryin' while I box with a deadman
with You don't wanna fuck with me Blam! Very, very difficult to fuck with Badder than bad coming from MoTown Blam! Very, very difficult to fuck with You don't wanna fuck with
with glass bottoms cause defeated kid I'm heated Its flight of the intruder and we all fall down Conditions of never blends science with religion Cut
She Got 4 kids. Her Legs Cant Close Like The 4 Door Inch Bronco That OJ Kill The White Hoes With. a Wealthy White Girl Without The face Lift, Loure Her With
requiring replies most facile and vacuous, with words nearly singed, with the heartbeat of passions, spew forth with the grace of a tart going under
it to the ceilin' and every wall could hear me And if these walls could talk, they probably cry Like the strings on the guitar And see you, you with