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the line I can make it up to glory at the end of my life Now whiskey's hard to throw away something I might try to do If I could spend forever running
the line I can make it up to glory at the end of my life Now whiskey's hard to throw away something I might try to do If I could spend forever running
said) It belongs to me And to your little boy and to your little girl And the one hand clapping Where on your palm is my little line When you're
the vine.1 I really am a-fixin' To go home and start a-mixin' Down below that Mason-Dixon line. Oh, poll tax2, How I love ya, how I love ya, My dear
to the promised land. Workin' on a T-bone steak a la carte Flying over to the Golden State; When the pilot told us in thirteen minutes He would set us
I left my home one day For the sake of better pay In a foreign land twelve centuries back in time Where the sun keeps burning down On the hole
of summer To a scorching winter land A frozen death sleep, then this heat Beats down on this buckled land Flames lick closer to the core From city limits
There's a road train going nowhere Roads are cut, lines are down We'll be staying at the Roma Bar Till that monsoon passes on The backbone
Follow the typical signs, the hand-painted lines, down prairie roads. Pass the lone church spire. Pass the talking wire from where to who knows?
said) It belongs to me And to your little boy and to your little girl And the one hand clapping Where on your palm is my little line When you're
and the line played out, With a single flourish of his tail, He capsized the boat and we lost five men, And we did not catch the whale, brave boys, And we
To a George Strait vinyl, that yes-or-no line'll get her close But I don't think she can understand Just how far I've been lettin' my heart fall But what's
like a mighty army man God's building a church It'll be water to a dry and barren land God's building a church It's gonna rise from a valley of dead
like a mighty army man God's building a church It'll be water to a dry and barren land God's building a church It's gonna rise from a valley of dead
yeah yeah yeah 'Bout to buy me some land Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah As soon as I land Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah Think he breakin' in Yeah yeah
Shell shocked and trigger happy, (marching further out of line) I live in peace but I'm still fighting (marching further out of line) Who is wrong
America, the land of pretty people and monsters (I got it) Disneyland spinoff full of privilege and products (yeah) Compete with our drama, clawed out
That's some sweet dreams, who want a taste? Give the American dream to a bitch that ain't even from the USA That's the land of the Free, it's the home
of the southlands listen to that whistle scream It's that pan american on her way to new or-leans. She leaves cincinnati headin' down that dixie line When she passes
for hustling season Bottom line money is power And the power mean muscle Money and guns stacked up to the ceiling Nigga get down for his hustle his
She lives in the land of the used to be These days, baby that's all she's got She tries so hard just to stay in touch But auld acquaintance long
Saddam in this bitch One at a time, I line 'em up and bomb on they mom While she watchin' the kids I'm in a destruction mode if the gold exists I'm
The inner city life controlled by the outer world G Another Bronx War Story (Repeat last line 4x) [Verse 2:] Peace see God you held me down like a weapon
(too wild) Thought I was just a wide-eyed child I guess things haven't changed that much I can still shoot tequila, I can still land a punch They
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