Lyrics:
Bottles pop out while he smoke
Hate we met, proud that we broke
Let them girls crowding me go
If they got something to show, let them show me
I don't
(Wemame)
I ghat an itch and she getting it scratched (Wemame)
Thula ujaive (Wemame)
I ghat more than a vibe (Wemame)
You are crowding my style (Wemame)
around
Looking for a place to spend my nights
I don't wannna give it away
I I don't wanna everybody crowding up my space
But I believe in sharing
When you
crawling in the night
When the roof comes down
And the walls are crowding in, no out
I'm paralyzed and you're the one I see
Standing over me it's hard
may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
They're crowding around your door
When
that are crowding around the canals
In the masses to catch you and ration the savage of you
Grab for the branches, wrap them in you
We'll scream
feel that I'm being used
I press all fault to the man in robes
But I can't see the ghosts crowding the road
I can't see the ghosts crowding the road
Sleeping well from the sound
A deep sleep, I never wanna wake up
Never wanna
CHORUS
Stay, a prophet leading the way
Pull and find, sadness crowding
the beer
Let's go upstairs you say, let's go upstairs, I don't want to go
I want to be myself, y ou're crowding me out, you're crowding me out
Chorus
that you do with your body
Got all of these niggas they crowding around you like they seen Beyoncé in here (she here, she here)
You want your own
yeah
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding 'round your door, oh yeah
But when you're gone and spending ends
Oh, they don't come around
may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money--you've got lots of friends
Crowding 'round the door
When you're
tonight, yeah (ooh oh oh)
Imagine she came here to get away (get away)
Well she don't want nobody crowding her space
Wouldn't that be weird? Aw yeah (woo)
to a sneezer
And warm his ol' gob 'fore he died
Well, the boys they came crowding in fast
And they threw all their stools 'round about him
Six glims round his
yeah
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding 'round your door, oh yeah
But when you're gone and spending ends
Oh, they don't come around
may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round
may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're
of the Passion Play.
All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key:
Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance.
There was a rush along the Fulham
my first guitar
When I was fourteen
Now I'm crowding thirty
And still wearin' jeans.
[Chorus]
that you do with your body
Got all of these niggas they crowding around you like they seen Beyoncé in here (she here, she here)
You want your own
I see your face before me
Crowding my every dream
There is your face before me
You are my only theme
It doesn't matter where you are
I can see
I see your face before me, crowding my every dream
There is your face before me; you are my only theme
It doesn't matter where you are; I can see
may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're
may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money--you've got lots of friends
Crowding 'round the door
When you're
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