it Man I must be dreamin' I must think about it, dreamin' I was young and dumb wit a pocket full of cash Posted on tha block wit a pocket full of glass
ck they let me on this song? I don't even care who own this song Chris could've called me, man you should've called me Man, god damn I love this song
roses Sink me in the river at dawn Send me away with the words of a love song The ballad of a dove Go with peace and love Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
live here any more) I'd rather be gone (you see) I will be the evidence that's wrong Please listen to the words of my song My song, my song ooh ooh
life on the rocks, too hard to swallow So we get high 'till it feel like the sky low Ya'll boys just a bunch of pussy cats milo Money is the song, pockets
We Brought Cake To The Party, No Icing No Ice On Big Phantom No License Fuck If You're Feeling Me As Long As Your Wife Is No One In My City Got A Pocket
Relax lil' cat, let the big dog attack Thought it was over for me homie, did you fall for that? You turn rigor red, no cardiac Get your hand out of my pocket
baggage, it's tragic, some Vietnam shit Flat-lining all you cats up in a long wiz Out-of-towners, proper heavenly father, you know the song, bitch Thug
for Flame, Eat these rappers chef of the game, Shit on the track, shit on the train, Murder the beat, the beat was slain, Rest in peace, that's a shame, He kill anybody song
s your favorite producer, come on baby let it bump(bump) I'm like a music cyclone when I'm in the zone I typhoon everytime I get on a song I *tie coo?*
g stro] [oooh aaah show ur g stro] [oooh aaah show ur g stro] [verse 2] two thousand and nine bus rhyme back up on the seen, back against ya with a pocket
I've got a key And a piece of paper in my pocket deep In my pocket piece of paper and a key As i wander through the street War is there a war or is there
busy Daddy's writing this song, this song ain't gon' write itself I'll give you one underdog, and you gotta swing by yourself Then turn right around in that song
tippin' good, girl, but I can make it flood 'Cause I walk around with pockets that are bigger than my bus Rain, rain go away, that's what all my haters say My pockets
tartar sauce, yo, 'cause it's sad All these crap rappers, they're rappin' like crabs I have carte blanche, the vagabond Nas is the narcissist, my pockets
taxi driver thought I was insane, Brown girl from the Bronx showed me her home, We went there by subway train She took me there time and time again Love was our sweet song
it all night long Well I'm tryin' to get some sleep But these motel walls are cheap Lincoln Duncan is my name And here's my song, here's my song My
Bop-bop-a-whoa Ain't no song like an old song, Charlie Bop-bop-a-whoa There ain't no song like an old song, Charlie Bop-bop-a-whoa There ain't no time