me has just got to be real Before you know the way I?m going to feel I?m going to feel I?m going to feel Oh yeah! Now I have you with me, under my power
me has just got to be real Before you know the way I'm going to feel I'm going to feel I'm going to feel Oh yeah! Now I have you with me, under my power
I bite my tongue (and you know it) it hurts a lot (and that drop of blood is bitter) My fingers crossed my face against the wall I really think I
now I can't take shaking anymore I cannot take you anymore I can't take being me anymore I can't take crying anymore I can't take lying anymore I can
:} Tu peux pas controler ma destinee C'est pas la peine, c'est pas la peine Tu peux pas imiter, sois pas degoute N'ai pas la haine, n'ai pas la haine
And i feel no pain but i cant remember Whose to b lame... This is not my home This is not myhome But the source was always known Mmygrain I beg, you
-hop [D-Shade] Understand I'm like Tarzan swinging through the urban jungle In a constant struggle to make sure that we don't stumble When I see trouble well I
shot for J5 I'm all the way live I socialize with the wise Underprivileged spiritually deprived At times in the flesh Airwaves getting checked The vibe is energized by the way I spit my dialect I
migo [Black Thought] At the Rat Cave, mic I'm hand, I'm flowin Tellin ?uestion, to keep it, goin What I'm doin, I'm not really knowin but umm, to me
herds of the verbs I gots the urge to splurge, like a Bosnian Serb A-drift I means a-draft I means I riff I means I raff Rap's ca-tas-trophe, don't want
right out the pot Oh shit... [Ill Knob of K.G.B.] The K, the G, the B, Ill Knob bring the ruckus cuz I don't got no time for these faggots They frontin
before I return hit the porcellain [Ill Knob - K.G.B.] The K, the G, the B, Ill Knob bring the ruckus Cuz I don't got time for these faggots, they frontin
to sleep. I had a bottle of the Burglar's wine Which my true love did not know, And so I poisoned that dear little girl Down under the bank below. I
me wondering what I've become When I'm alone to think of my torture I never have to pretend I love you I have no conscience, I have compassion I'd like
like noches, buenos And I compose a poem for the many gun-slingers R&B singers, perpetrating guns with two fingers My style is perhaps one of the foulest I
is gone We up all night, I wonder if you can hang We used to hang from a tree Now we hangin' behind the rope, we V.I.P. We do it B.I.G., ain't no need
