Call of forgiveness I'm like the beat of the hurt I'm not the only one You tried to save when you fell out Call of forgiveness I'm like the clean in
wasn't true, I really, really was faithful I never cheated on you. Suspicious, distrust, your cruelty my fate, In a vehement neurotic rage.
big broke records bankrupt records if i wasnt trappin i wouldnt be special gucci like to shoot gucci like murkin cat snitch got 14 months damn l.a.s
oh, Christ hang up the phone.. "? And you said: "oh, I guess I've always known" But I said: "oh, never leave me alone" Oh-oh-oh ...this record broke on its own... ...this record
, 1930 RCA #62980-2 Album: Walter Davis First Recording 1930-1932 JSP Records #605 Transcriber: Awcantor@aol.com Listen here, babe I'm broke an I'
the right track, baby, I was born this way Don't be a drag, just be a queen Don't be a drag, just be a queen Don't be a drag, just be a queen Don't
That's why I tuck em in not givin' a fuck again D.R.A you add the K.E a hundred grand and you lables can not Play me I'll never go broke Fuck em I'm
best to go your separate ways, guess that they don't know ya 'Cause today, that was yesterday, yesterday is over, it's a different day Sound like broken records
they weak staff, get a heat rash Anything in Bad Boy way we smash (We smash) Hundred G stash, push a bulletproof E-Class (Ehehe) I'm through with bein' a player and a
Broke breads with the cokeheads Been down, still I get around like a nigga with broke legs on a moped I said; I'm a "Top Gun" like Gossett Run and get
take you home No need to pack a bag Who put your life in the danger zone? You running dropping like a rolling stone No need to pack a bag You just
I got a bitch with hair, a bitch with none A bitch with a knife, a bitch with a gun A bitch with a ass big as a TV set And there's a bitch over there,
Now radio stations probably won't play This record because of the things I say They'll say I'm glamorizing the hustlin' hood And a record like this
Evil cuts the records like a psycho with a switchblade You see a blur that's the crossfade Loud and proud, words bombard the crowd Look up in the air you see a
his parents passed away Never understood his fascination with rhymes or beats In poetry he was considered elite Became a young gangster in the streets of L.A
record sales keep soarin' and soarin' I'll make a million,maybe two Buy some rides,gold blow the dough on my crew Wake up the next morning broke as hell
s a small one, no fun at all Bouncin' round the air like a tennis ball When it touches down I wanna kiss the ground But it's time to wreck a new town