Lyrics:
I'm alone in a month of Sundays
Will I ever come back again?
I turn to you in times of storms
But I get washed out to sea
I cry for you more and more
A passenger traveling quietly conceals himself
With a magazine and a sleepless pillow
Over the crest of the mountains the moon
Begins its climb
then I pump-faked
Oh-my-God, the whole squad
Caught a vibe on a fucking Sunday
Working I got way too much drive to ever pump the brakes
I been on the gas
of Emilia-Romagna. It’s a warm September morning and the piazza is crowded with people, watched over by the lofty bell tower of the 12th century Basilica of San
This one I wrote this afternoon.
That's the truth.
I had written the first little part of this, and I sang it two weeks ago Sunday on the Ed
Friday night tryna make it into the city
Breakneck speeds, passenger seat something pretty
Thinking back to how I got here in the first place
Second
by me
And I remember when I was sitting
In your passenger seat
When you looked me in the eyes
And promised you would never let me go
When we were
the type to punt (Fuck that!)
I go for the home run.
You the type to bunt
No support stay in court twice a month.
Light the blunt!
D.A. Fleas
six months, it's The Mayor (ha, 'Za)
I give you that work and I'ma go for it (what, what?)
I'll never punt 'cause I'm a player (never)
Young nigga be
homies kinda deep
Somking on a thai stick feeling kinda hight wit
Ya passenger seat occupied by a fly bitch
Rolling in ya lo-lo
Cut list all ya MCs
to be fly
It's been a minute since I seen ya
It's been six months since your last track
I haven't even heard you on features
I didn't know if you still
and the whole week through
We'll find a home that is just right for you
Monday through Sunday and the whole week through
Oh eight months have past our Anthony by
forward to
Ours was last Sunday of the month
No it was a Sunday but every last Sunday of the month, I remember the first time my mum dropped me in that
forward to
Ours was last Sunday of the month
No it was a Sunday but every last Sunday of the month, I remember the first time my mum dropped me in that
to the face
But it's not cocaina
Where yo bitch
Passenger seat of me whip
That's the last time I seen her
Shawty said
Ion don't care who you fuck
Make sure ion
able to fly through this world, doing what you love to do but because of a court order your son before the age of 1 has to fly twice a month and maybe by
roll
One sunday morning in a driving rain
Around the curve came a passenger train
In the cabin stood Casey Jones
Bold engineer but he's dead and gone
Mrs
gone
On that Friday running late with rolling off and rolling on
Trucks and cars were sleeping door by door and side by side
Someone had to close
The lonely passenger
On the trek he's taking
Time alone, getting stranger
He can't explain what he's feeling
He's never ridden this high before
Dazed
quicksand
I'm tryin' Lord, I just can't get right
Paid my bills on Monday, even went to church on Sunday
But I, but I, but I just can't get right
I lay in
The Passenger
Forever young, Don't let me down
Hallejujah, Ave Maria
Radio ga ga
Let it be, Stand by me
Penny Lane, Purple rain
Yesterday, New years day
Sunday
being useless
Can’t never worry about what he doing
Focus on me that other is nuisance
I’m chasing the money from Sunday to Sunday
I’m craving some
light
Caught a glimpse of you in the corner of my eye
But there wasn't nothing on the passenger side
That wasn't behind me
And little by little babe
One Sunday morning, in the driving rain
Around the bend came a passenger train
In the cabin stood Casey Jones
Noble engineer but he's dead
Discuss these month of sunday by passenger Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In