The name of the brother to blame It's quite plain, it's not the rain But a brother who don't claim or aim To be a preacher or ordained I have Black Thoughts
[Black Thought] The name of the brother to blame It's quite plain, it's not the rain But a brother who don't claim or aim to be a preacher or ordained
Preklad: The Roots. Pri 15.
: [Black Thought] The name of the brother to blame It's quite plain, it's not the rain But a brother who don't claim or aim to be a preacher or ordained
with heaven? It's hell when you're an orphan at a early age This impressionable stage, no love breeds rage In the heart of a child who never knew his roots
Yo, I got this plan to make some money I want you to keep this shit to yourself At 6:15 a.m, the truck pulls out of the Post office on Lankershin and
I left the city Got a place with a yard and I planted myself a garden I used to sell a lot of things Until I found out how many About 15,000 of each
count them blessings and keep jamming 'tis him Scumbag, scum of the earth his worth was nil Until he gained the skill of tongues From 15 years young
Saturday morning serials chapters 1 through 15 Fly paper, penny loafers, Lucky Strike Green Flat tops, sock hops, Studebaker, Pepsi Please Ahh, do you
when I was born That a nigga like E should'a never been born Too late, big mistake in '72 It's '92, now the year of code blue 15 hours 11 minutes 30
played yourself I understand, I understand dude, I was just like you when I was 15 years old You played yourself Talking about, you ain't The Roots, you ain't The Roots
what I do When I do what I do so erratically Treat a box like a tooth And I kill it to the root Like I'm drillin' for a cavity [Madrox] 15 more pumps
Hello? Is my daughter there? She's 15 years old Blue eyes, blonde hair She's been away from home 'bout two or three day To locate Rikk Agnew in California
they're bitchin' I'ma put Matchin' sofa set, big open deck Hardwood floors and their decks they connect From the front to the back, nigga, top that Six-15
thang look superb Grain in ya left fist, cup in ya right hand Air conditioner on 60 nigga I aint playin' In a Fruit Punch Impala, Root Beer Cutlass Pineapple
