Testi:
The Rolling Stones The Singer Not The Song

This song I sing is not for sale. These words I scream to you are real. No one can ever buy our lives. This music will survive. Remember when we didn

song Stupid words, erased song Gun shots, orange house Dead man walking with a dirty mouth Spoiled milk, stale bread Welfare, bubonic plague Record deal, light bulb Keep back kid not

on her hind legs; The organ would grind dregs of song, for the pleasure Of the children, who'd shriek Throwing coins at her feet Then recoiling in terror Sing

pimp; I'm a rollin' stone Bonafide born mack I'm always stoned to the bone Got an underground palace with a custom made throne Got my own fuckin' song

So I'm tellin' y'man To move it right along 'N hurry up and sing your little song 'N while you're moving madly You can sing yourself a happy Little ditty

Okay, here we go Yeah, I'm afraid, like I'm scared as a dog But I've got a new song And I want y'all to sing along, sing along See this is the way that

not Tupac Doe Rae Me cause we're hot and you're not Going at me is the only shot you got Ja quit playing now get off your not Tupac You can get popped

or I'm finna be an entity Kanye, Jay-Z, Mos Def, and Kweli We are not makin' songs no more We're makin' history [background singers] This morning I

t know whose shit that is F'real, you know when I realized that I was wrong When I wrote the words to this song [Chorus: unnamed singer] Just tell me