Lyrics:
Rock of ages cleft for me
Now that could be the voice of John F Morgan in the
Ripley jailhouse singin' hymns
Well ol' Johnny might just be singin'
beware cuz now Johhny be dead!
One in the slot
Two in the Glock
Three in the chamber you ain't finna talk
Four with the ice
Five with the guys
Six in
me so
muthafuckas keep feelin' me cause muthafucka its
real with me.
[Chorus] [Johnny P]
This is for my dead homies. (This is for my homies)
This
While resting the other evening by the side of the road
I saw an old farmer in the field that he just hold
His face was all brown and wrinkled by
The last words said by Johnny
But now he's six feet under and he's dead
Our next song we'll play is called "Jenifa"
And we'll be back in a minute
Johnny was a shoemaker
A captain he'll be by and by
With a brave and gallant crew
A captain he'll ba by and by
With a sword and skyglass too
And when
Johnny was a shoemaker
A captain he'll be by and by
With a brave and gallant crew
A captain he'll ba by and by
With a sword and skyglass too
And when
eighteen, I went to Hollywood
I met Elvis, Marilyn and Johnny B. Goode
Got my guitar painted in the California Sun
A red Cadillac having to much fun
Now we
and pretty girls with washboards ...
Lakota Sioux Medicine songs sung by Rocky Mountain white kids
Thirty different bands playing from the Grateful Dead Book
on your feet
Talk to 'em Tyrese
I'm so grateful
I'm so humbled by Your love
Oh why
Where would I be without Your love?
(Where would I be without
While resting the other evening by the side of the road
I saw an old farmer in the field that he just hold
His face was all brown and wrinkled from
a couple G's down by the lake
Hell yeah I got 'em but they'll be straight
[Verse 2 - Pimp]
We be 6 deep creepin'
In a Deville sittin' up on D's with
While resting the other evening by the side of the road
I saw an old farmer in the field that he just hold
His face was all brown and wrinkled by
the helium out the buzz, rise through the beehive
Bathe myself in honey till the sky falls and I crawl to heaven where I last left you
I grateful dead you
I
up
With the mop stick getting cleaned up
cnd I be dropping hits just like the Grateful Dead
Or like I'm Johnny Depp with his wife in bed
I got a pocket
army all by my lonely
I barely got any homies cause niggas they be so phoney
It's more than rhymes, I'm a picture painter, a artist of rhythm
The rapping
like the dead
Close the book, it's time to die
Don't get up, don't even try
Think about your soul instead
Where will you be when you're dead
Johnny is
touring
Keep up the pouring
That poison yo organs
I'll keep putting powder front of my forehead
Popping them pills
Til these artists there's more dead
While resting the other evening by the side of the road
I saw an old farmer in the field that he just hold
His face was all brown and wrinkled by
memories passed down to me
The Goode family memory
That'll surpass Matt
It won't end at that
I wonder how you'd be around me
But mom would tell me
The man I
cyanide
It feels like cyanide
When you feel dead inside
And all you got is pride
It feels like cyanide
It feels like cyanide
When no one's by your side
like fish
Mr. Big Mouth, the gat be trout
You need to douche out your style no doubt
Johnny struck through the Shaolin slum
Prum-prum-prum on my
Where my dead father stood?
Interruption
I don't think I should
Last night someone laid out
A cross just made out of cards
Life can be explained just by
Smell like fish
Mr. Big Mouth, the gat be trout
You need to douche out your style no doubt
Johnny struck through the Shaolin slum
Prum prum prum on my
.png/300px-Grateful_Dead_(1970).png "Grateful Dead")
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