Lyrics:
If you two-wheelin', tryna chill, get a kickstand
Everybody gettin' money had a game plan
Every truth seeker dropped by a hit man
Everybody
where we can go
Fuck what a nigga talk, I'm young Christopher in my soul
Walking that is, I'm King of New York and cross the globe
DC nigga this a DC mind
nobody by my side
When I was in need
I got million dollar worth fantasies
I may kill my self for my Ecstasies
She told me to quit music
Even though I
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.
I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen,
Right in the middle of the town.
A fine tin roof with real wooden floors below.
There
I don't give a damn I ain't scared of no man
I'll travel with the work like a nomad
Christopher Wallace this shit gettin heavy
Now I look at my pocket
patient while I'm here
I'ma be a light in the basement
Some OG's said I sound like SPM mucho respeto
Saint Christopher emblem making my neck glow
Only rock
Nicki Minaj's eyeliner is a
Precision event, a marvel
As if drawn on by the kind of
Pre-programmed robot arm used
For laparoscopic surgeries
It is
eludes
Could this hold the key to Riemann's final prophecy?
By the prismatic light of the twin stars of Thyraxia!
Infrared and ultraviolet beams
Jesus Christ was a man
Who traveled through the land
A hard working man and brave
He said to the rich,
"Give your goods to the poor."
But they
the prod
Fuck time, like Christopher Walken
Walking crooked on the line, while the nypd be snortin
Contorting around the beat
Abortion clinics protect
say the rich have the cure
The rich say the poor are the source
Revolutionaries say it's psychological war
Invented by the press, just to have
And that's why I'm sittin' here
Lookin' cross the table at you
That's why I'm sittin' here
Lookin' cross the table at you
Well a lonely man needs
somebody else instead
Down the highway, down the tracks
Down the road to ecstasy
I followed you beneath the stars
Hounded by your memory
And all your
somebody else instead
Down the highway, down the tracks
Down the road to ecstasy
I followed you beneath the stars
Hounded by your memory
And all your
a hundred grand
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Man I make this money dance
I criss cross, she sun tans
Propellers out the window over our lands
Where I land
Girl we
suggest you pout
I'ma send this nigga out, get blessed by the God
Don't get clapped on
Just a young black man with a backbone
In the back come home,
easy
Ion know why we gotta grind hard
Just to die and leave the bread
Mehn that shit so crazy
Ma own man di try for double
Cross me for make money
Only
Pray for the poor from a throne of gold,
Your faith won't change what is real,
Your omnipresent, all-knowing God
Needs money so he can heal.
Idle-diddle-daidle-daidle man.
I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen,
Right in the middle of the town.
A fine tin roof with real wooden floors below.
There
way cross the floor
To the place where you stand
He's walking, he's flying
The poor boy is trying to be by your side
When the waltzing begins
Everyone's criss cross like Kyrie I ball
You all talking shit saying that I will fall
But no one is stopping cause I'm standing tall
Call me the bomb cause I
Daidle deedle daidle daidle man
I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen
Right in the middle of the town,
A fine tin roof with real wooden
Daidle deedle daidle daidle man
I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen
Right in the middle of the town
A fine tin roof with real wooden
on the street
Words on the walls with crooks and the thieves
Rich and the poor politicians and more
People turn fake when you be stacking your bag
Even your own
.jpg/300px-Christopher_Cross_in_beaumont_ca_(2637703689).jpg "Christopher Cross")
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