Lyrics:
All we monsters think we are divinely born.
Our fingers pointed to heaven, we direct our scorn.
We're not flying,
We're not flying
We're not
silence raping & violence
Torn and despised by God
This is what you made of me
This is what is left of me
This is what you made of me scorn & tortured
This
entrancing,
but the dancing was a lamentable mess!"
FIRMIN
"Dear Firmin, just a brief reminder:
my salary has not been paid.
Send it care of the ghost, by
Jewry
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O tidings
One day a plain village woman
Driven by love for her Lord
Recklessly poured out a valuable essence
Disregarding the scorn
And once it was broken
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort
lessons by the yawn
Grandma Tellin stories bout Jesus Tryn see if..
Wake up
God complex, I know
Pray that I dont see his scorn
God dont make me Pyro
Puttin
you niggas scorn, I wasn't phased
It was a phase, look at my face
I wanna race, I set a pace
As a fat boy, I had to catch my wind
Get my laps on, double
clothes and expensive jewelry
I got a heart made of gold, motives be the purest
And they say hell have no fury like a woman's scorn
Fuck that, I'm
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O tidings of comfort and joy)
(Comfort and joy o
the mountains high
With cavalry and infantry to take him they did try
He laughed at them with scorn until at last 'twas said
By a false-hearted woman he was
Jewry,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O tidings
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O tidings of comfort and joy)
(Comfort and joy o
Bethlehem in Jewry,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O
was born,
And laid within a manger,
Upon this blessed morn;
That which His Mother Mary,
Did nothing take in scorn.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains of his old, withered hands
But remember his fingers, they once could move
They just call me mad hatter
Cuz it's been in my core
I've been a bad fucking child
Man my mama could scorn
Acting out of pocket
Kicked my ass out
But to scoff and scorn
The builders rejected stones
Where is Your Love?
Where is Your Love?
Is there a use for Your hands and heart?
You plot and ploy
The scattered pages of a book by the sea
Held by the sand washed by the waves
A shadow forms cast by a cloud
Skimming by as eyes of the past
But
Marital norms unperformed but the porn survives
In the dorms of the scorn, they keep warm supplies
Gone to lose the use of tooth, horn and thigh
Farthest
By K. Michael Cooper
Now I would like to introduce to you
Professor Makashanti
International Professor of Dubology, Dub,
Poetry
Reasoning
Jesus
Help your people fight to follow
So wherever you go we'll be right by your side
Go, then, earthly fame and treasure
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain
the strangers eyes
And who are we to criticize or scorn the things that they do?
For we shall seek and we shall find Ammonia Avenue
If we call for
mate
Sparrow in the treetop, sparrow in the treetop
Scared of goin' home because it's too darn late
Don't look at me, sweetheart, with scorn in your
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