Lyrics:
When you die they put you in a wooden black box
You are peaceful now there are no worries
The brain has stopped
Prayers will be read by a priest
of Babylon
There's no way I belong, but I would still like to be on it
I got, Mandelas on my mind and my mind on Mandelas
I'm not an average guy, you can tell
When you are fast asleep in the dead of night.
I leave no trace where I stood
This little devil is up to no good
You are not the same again tomorrow
You
It's in the air like pestilence spreading to the settlements
Infecting residents trapped in irrelevance
'Cause presidents, dead or alive take
sworn you'd stay
Ain't it funny how the good things in life seem to fade away?
We were carryin' a heavy load
'Til one of use got tired of liftin'
We
pulled out on a nigga
But like Killgrave, made his weapon drop
I walked away and told him that his neck would be a better shot
Heard him pull
Look at all the beautiful buildings
scattered on the ground.
All the people enslaved by their liberations.
And look at all the bloodshed.
The lamb
which love's killing the mercy
A dead man's swimming over the sea
He won't to be (the one who will feel you)
Now it happen to me
Tell me who's gonna
me
Should make some sense in my life
But with a dark wind in my face
I admit I'd rather be dead
But in the darkness they search
For souls to help
Keep their hands on the special
Cause they'll show you what tecs do
Them boys is drama driven, raised by the system
Listen, they bust to survive
Your
jars
Principal jumped up with his dick in the mouth of Ms. Mars
Picked up the tele, sweatin' for some squad cars
Cats tried to cut us off by
It's in the air like pestilence spreading to the settlements
Infecting residents trapped in irrelevance
'Cause presidents, dead or alive take
Cool, calm collective
My perspective is to analyze every situation
The family die, put my mind in isolation
I be facin' nightmares
'Fraid 'cause
built on a bluff
Guess my bluff got called by Memphis
Now I’m doing this every night
Beale Street thing
Set up in a palace that’s
Fit for a king
They let
hardboiled and wiry sonofabitch,
said to be part Injun and winnowed by the seamier affections
of men, and why not.
Not one voice like that voice rising,
now
ain't dropped nothing a while
These rappers are dead, you're better than all of them by a mile
They all sound the same, there ain't not one of them with
Special shout-out to the whole, whole, whole
West side 6, 7, 8, 9 It go
We used to run streets now they just ours
My luck has been good we made it
clothes
Stunting for these hoes like
Rims on cars gems like a star
But there gotta be a better fucking way
But it was slow like
Babies Hades, is where my
it got tense
Shot up his yard left corn on his mums bed
False alarm heard mister mans not dead
Who's that my man wait there one sec
You ever seen Usain
.png/300px-Grateful_Dead_(1970).png "Grateful Dead")
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