don't care" Avoiding fear so you'll forget Humanity isn't so precious Be ready to die You aren't so precious Just look at that disguise Here and there, here and there
on it They head and they earl to the toilet and vomit Back East summer MC king since Cuban Pretty Tone Iron Man and Bulletproof and Supreme Proof and
it They head and they earl to the toilet and vomit Back East summer MC king since Cuban Pretty Tone Iron Man and Bulletproof and Supreme Proof and you
frame Open up the good book read the scriptures And sighs his name The skies full of flames Streets are gothic Twelve niggaz lay dead in front of their projects
everyone I knew just around the Christmas tree Now there's so many people and so many place s and so many faces that the only way that I could ever get
guys bad then I gotta be a demon Wayne's getting money like Damon and Keenan Try to take it from me and I'm aiming and beaming Banging and leaving,
and goes to the basement Projecting some slides onto a plain white Canvas and traces it Fills in the spaces He turns off the slides, and it doesn't look right Yeah, and
" There was no party, and there were no songs 'Cause today's just a day like the day that he started And no one is left here who knows his first name And
whore shore to shore before the last days is here that for shore how many days before we get more mature and brothers with babies take care of there
kuwait And objects, get these papes and escape Ballad and cronz is like a midget to an ape Don't care if you got a biscuit and, uh, 8 Niggaz rhymin with
Oh, here we go slithering, here we go Slithering and squelching on Oh, here we go slithering, here we go Slithering and squelching on Oh ah ee oo There
and goes to the basement Projecting some slides onto a plain white Canvas and traces it, fills in the spaces He turns off the slides, and it doesn't look right Yeah, and
and grind, shouting down the passage of time! What's there to see or make clear? What's there to know when the voice is right here? What's there to promise
a feeling so euphoric Non-stop pleasure slowly creeps from toe to brain. With my multitude of senses, Reality has become my only ball and chain. Well, there
atmosphere Take a good look at what's happening here On the microphone, I'm rappin' Pickin' 'em, stickin' 'em up, breakin' 'em, shakin' 'em up and bashin
good' Twenty-five years He's worked at the paper A man's here to take him downstairs And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones It's time There was no party, there
