Testi:
Remembering Never From My Cold Dead Hands

Dependent on things not seen in black and white Responsibility is a dying art form Everything is out of (gun) control "From my cold dead hands" you said

Row Fair exchange when we fuck them hoes [2Pac] Repetitive blows are thrown, to my foes No love shown get disposed of blasted full blown My unknown tendencies to mash my car Getting wicked with my

top of grace From your cold hands and your dead eyes From your cold Hands I Cry I will never trust and label death as my only defense I will never trust

, my last thoughts forming the rhyme Got me running through the streets That reek of the dead, its more food to the wealthy??? My niggaz on welfare,

ll run you down with a weapon My goonies get looney anytime that I tell 'em Dead 'em! I walk around with stacks in my denim With fast foreign cars with

incest (Cam) You know what I'm sayin'? (Minister) My son, my son, remember the words of the Lord. Isaiah chapter 59, verse 1, behold, the Lords hands

goods in these wild lands A desert eagle in a child's hands Your style's planned, my styles blend earth, wind, fire, water You never know my son might

miss you, the break's never clean, my heart is still see through, so flash the light towards my torso, my empty chamber, reach your hands inside, it's

do Casting long, dark shadows twisted shapes dancing on the walls As the wind blows cold my candle dies Now everything disappears Reaching out my hands