Lyrics:
2 Unlimited
Ready, ready, ready for this
Feel the base, you just get closer
Be impressed by the words I chose of
Once again kickin' it live
[Lyrics by RMS Hreidmarr]
We are the Sun
We are the dead stars
We are the black sky
Invading your room
We are the candle
The only light
We are
a white cup in my hand, we might toast
I got Hump I got Redd to the side, we'll chunk it up
Uh ain't no drank in the cup, 'cause I done already drunk it
But is there room for all of us in the shady rap biz
Put your 12's out yourself, push it, beg the pd
to play it and chart it, then maybe some kids will
lock arff
120 on the modes
In the German, better hashtag #Russian scratch car
Do it for my brother or mama
My white friend said that it's pucker
Bro
It's a small town built on novel objections,
And white local papers with only corrections,
There's grease on the collars and ties,
And a life
Had my canvas primed in white, some water by my bed, a wooden palette smeared with reds and gray s and blues. Dipped my brush into the paint, traced
Johnny's room mama
Standing right there by his bed
With my hands around his throat mama
Wishing both of us were dead
You think I'm psycho don't you
makin' fun of nerd clicks
You motherfuckin' freaks and geeks are dumb
With ya painted white face, and pierced nose and tongue
I pass my classes with ease
Elected by my people, the only one on the ballot
Born and bred to consult with feds, I laugh at fate
And assassinate my predecessor to have his place
In
She was delivered by the grace of his hands
Kindness, relentless, wired to be shared
People stood awkwardly and gazed across the room
She walked
There is a price to pay
For everything you gain
Deutschland Deutschland raise your hand
I'm the poor 'casian, man tan more land
White man steal your
Love of mine, someday you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to
Gates of white
Just our
Paparazzi flicks on the 6 page
(click, click, click)
Grimy bunch with the 40s by the rib cage
In my 'jects we wanted to
Be this like Big Dave (RIP)
I been
why I write rap songs
It's a white guy without dying my hair blonde
And if he's a rap star, where is the car
That he described every line
Of the sixteen
caught years, turned one to six
One man, I never need no accomplices
Corner boy, meeting cats by the Londises
I was just in the can eating sandwiches
dirty white pills
Scattered on the floor of cheap hotels
Mold in the bottom of my coffee cup
Somehow I still gotta wake up
Room full of eyes I've
martyrs out of children and innocent people
We expect the bombs, not knowing where next
Huddle in the corner of my room trying to protect my little
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