out of luck! Still alone and I'm still fucked... fuck you! Slave to addiction for years and years hid from my life, Hid from my fears, fucking broke, alone
's when I started havin faithless 'Cause Black Rob he on trial and I escaped death Still in your tape (yeah) still gettin hate threats Still gotta take that Still
army, allied with the south The eastern plane was still a threat War continued periodically with weekly air raids Fully aware of my calling for death
cell they left It's sort of like hell or death Except we still here breathin' in the flesh receiving respect Yet, being stressed 'cause we threats to
' for death On my knees I knelt Still tryin' ta find a way ta except That ain't a way I can help nobody till I save myself Technically I'm still a slave
carefully controlled, Why else would fiction have such licence? We are allowed to see endless theatrical deaths, But when the real deaths started on
roll deep in my gang {Ajamu} This is never personal death before the sauna Where threats and the malas cross the border of Tijuana On an everyday basis, unfamiliar faces We still
Pepsi dealt with the oppressive regimes in the Phillipines to build another Taco Bell General Motos creates competition with their "whipsawing" tactics role Dupont alone
bruised with flies The skies grew leadened But these miracles, feared Were all but reared By nature, whose law alone Stood that revered This hysteria passed, but still
in defeat And there they still lie bereft of their willpower Brought to their knees by the strength of a flower The three visions, the Mother Superior
Doc I'm tryin' to find patience/patients Lookin' like I'm pacin' Like hello, say hello to me I elbowed my way into niggas conversations I don't write rhymes I commit death threats
have met many times before. (Drawn to these spirits like moths to a flame- when there is no risk then there can be no gain). Death is a harsh fact of
arc marching on Macbeth's seat, Dunsinane, with a powerful army. Faced with these superior troops the tyrant's men flee from him, until he finally finds himself alone. Still
, every place where they are standing in cirles silent witness to the past, to times of old belief when spirits reigned in the mountains alone (Bridge:) Still
prayin for death On my knees I knelt, Still tryin ta find a way ta except That aint a way I can help nobody till I save myself Technically Im still
real world is carefully controlled, Why else would fiction have such licence? We are allowed to see endless theatrical deaths, But when the real deaths
