[Music & Lyrics by S. Guadagnoli] Dust in the tunnel, dust to dust Dust to dust, dust in the tunnel I would you live in my skin I want you taste my
hip BREAK THE LAW NIGGA!! Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da Law, Break Da
her wings off The night: a vampire trademark Dead man walking free The dancing has created a fire Two-headed strong man disgust, desire Midnight (destruct) Break
words the rings consistency and social security the miracles high tragedy A thought mistaken for a memory clear the dust from smiles in boxes
for permanence the words the rings consistency the social security a miracle is high tragedy thought mistaken for a memory clear the dust from
thought becomes inconvenience sound never penetrates the servile edges break and faint a thought mistaken for a memory clear the dust from smiles
thought becomes Inconvenience Sound never penetrates The servile edges break and faint A thought mistaken for a memory Clear the dust From smiles
Where the haters get real and the players grow, ya know Just soak it up 'cause it's to the plus Then spread your wings like an angel and get high like dust
' in my double, raw, rugged, and ruthless Keep a vest through these hard times, knowin' it's useless And my crew, who could should be mistaken for Jews We all about our past, blast if he break
baby's mama was smoked out, fuck the drama Wanna break my Loc out, smokin blunts Gettin drunk off that Tanqueray gin Bout to break my nigga out the fuckin
mutha fuckin' house Ice T in the mutha fuckin' house Ice T in the mutha fuckin' house Ice T in the mutha fuckin' house [Ice T] O to the mutha fuckin G I break
broken lives, mama come inside Cause our block is filled with danger Used to be a close knit community but now we're all total strangers Time changes dust
time? A nigga like me hits the borderline I ain't goin out like a sucker I strive too hard for mines, muthafucka Think you can take what I built and break
of them and there’s really not that many of us. Ladies love us and my posse’s kicking up dust. It’s on till the break of dawn and we’re starting this
on your punk ass squeezing the bird Now what New York niggas know about country grammar Not much, but we know how to bang them hammers When I pull out that thing, you better break
Miscount, 60 Sec., account the amount You seem to lost, your whereabout, there about A year to mount roundhouse, heavy second stakeout Try to break out
