Testi:
Guest Band

New York City... You are now rockin with 50 cent.. Are you ready? [Gun click] I said are you ready? See you wit me nigga? DROP DEAD. [mumbles:] Paid

I don't know. Equipment? It goes in the back. I'm sorry but you go on last. You don't have a guest list. The lady here is really pissed. She says your band

That ran his own plan from Mexico to Pakistan See his father's a banker from Ecksland While his mother's a jazz singer in a big band Son, you couldn'

comment In your outgoing style You'll cut out my heart And you'll do it to spite me y'only like me cause I'm in a band But at least you like me

bring the shore to the seashells And I ain't playin, I might end up your man If you keep it up like a bra without bands I'm a black star like the tats

yellin out, "OAKLAND!" Not the type of brother that's hard with a death wish but one thing that I'll die for is bein on the guest list I'm talkin bout

given second he could go mad postal Stay wavin that power band space cannon And have the nerve to jump in the face, of Race Bannon Punked out; luckily he deaded it And guess

motives are fake. Ten thousand people, Divided by one. And even still I have just begun, A struggle to grasp, All the knowledge at hand. I'd listen to wisdom, But he quit the band

corner of your eye you see one cherub ten cubits high. How do you arrange a room around a baby grand piano? In the Arabian-tented library guest room;