The times we had shared the same ideals The times we had been holding hands Now come to an end Now my hands are crushing your neck. So quick to wash away
Traduzione: A Perfect Murder. Soffocare.
You better be pickin up your place or get a taste of this one eight seven murder case It's dun-datta, no longer "see you tomorrow." I'll be screamin "not a
a track? Yeah that's a bucket I see Like a farmhand cuttin a little piggie From the author I'm also the farmer stupid I shoot a arrow at you and my name
I fear no evil For nothing Cause I know that he's on a hunt I pull out a swisher And split it And lit it And hit it And pass the devil a blunt
s Volvos and Vogues See, like trouble followed me I'm not a follower, another brotha made history A cop came in accident, a gunshot at liutnetant It was A.C. Chill... [A
Diving head first into this hopeless world. I was born to breathe not to choke. Can you see my wounds. Can you feel my pain. Cease to breathe. Cease to
son is a daughter All I need is some cigars and a quarter a couple cars and a lawyer Condom packin' a bitch and I'll be back with a hit I'm that sick
get gone, get gone) {*gun shot*} Gonna get gone, aiyya, aiyya (get gone, get gone) {*gun shot*} [Chorus] [Daz] (?)'s a herb, call the choreographer the murderer
quite just, but it's just quite impossible, a robe and a robe and a robe and a bat, no double class inverse could make lying worth dying with cheap
Who was a fantasy I don't mean to damage your ego You faggots wanna rassle I shove a fucking jar of vaseline up inside your asshole And rope it shut with a
will make abyss' look shallow Each page of my speech holds the rage of a beast On a stage I laid in a locked cage on a leash A literary stake I drive
king I'm quite just, but it's just quite impossible, a robe and a robe and a robe and a bat, no double class inverse could make lying worth dying Right
I'm quite just, but it's just quite impossible, a robe and a robe and a robe and a bat, no double class inverse could make lying worth dying Right Voice
, in-between, Some choke and some breathe, A fact of life in this plutocracy, As the best of the worst plan our lives, A mass murder of the spirit cuts