Texty:
Sounds The Four Songs And A Fight

be let go, released into the wind, again again and deuces I must throw ya peace [Kanye West] You know what, yo? you a bitch! you should have a travel agent cuz you a

I am a fag i suck at rapin yo Is fat, bald men decided to write songs And teach Mouseketeers to sing I'll stick Britney Spears in a room full of mirrors

posse got a real Mc, Too Short and it don't stop And it don't stop, and it won't stop 'cause I'm Too Short baby On the microphone and I'm macing Thought

B-Real's verse: You got the Real-a Swingi' of fmy nuts Cube Killa Break yourself niga, huh! Give a lick-a You ain't a killa You a busta Muthafucka Bitch

to avoid this Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black My culture, slides and attacks like a vulture Ghostface and

hope somebody brought a bag of weed I like them flavored blunt wraps Or a peach white owl But here, I'm in a hurry So just pack a bowl for now It's still

local breweries To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese To leather, to dildos to curry vindaloo To huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou Emotion, devotion, to causing a

were bold So with a flick of the wris', a jab and a stab The song of hate was sounded The pile of oppression was vomited And two policemen wounded Righteous

I'm just a token of your flirtation Nothing more than a description You're just a guy, just a kid from a place where your philosophy is a catastrophe