in a room Once a sanctuary, now simply a tomb And it is in this tomb I lie Dried flowers pressed in pages of faded romance died And I'm haunted by ghosts
? How many wait? It's too late, it's over now Niggas had a lack of faith so life ain't straight, if you incapable Having a little trouble a day wid ah
go wrong I'm confused about a lot of things, but not with my fate So I'm depending on your holy ghost to guide me the way See I'm a sinner in the third
's a heaven Heaven heaven heaven heaven I found a scroll And ancient bones A million ghosts Were all around I found a scroll And ancient bones A million ghosts
me sign I was out for a drink in a soho bar The air was smoked out liked a cheap cigar She rose out of her seat like a painted ghost She was the woman
Yo, yo, enta, enta Enta, enta It's the synical lyrical rap individual On my death bed I spit sick flows that's critical I'm not a fan of this, I'm a
1] + (w/ Malice ad-libs) [Verse 4 - Malice] It was just '98, I was holding work Now I'm only worth - over a mill, hell of a growth spurt And you don'
me of yours And in a story told she was a little girl In a red-rouge, sun-bruised field And there were rows of ripe tomatoes Where a secret was concealed
reminded me of yours. In a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret
quite a haul And that's when I heard someone shout In with the new, out with the old A dusty box of letters, a rusty suit of armor A casket made of 14
based on a war killed by the night aiming at you Arrived from the storm bringing the pieces love never die love is the war Into the paint of roses and
to the ground It fell without a sound And they took up with a man whose business was the boulevard Whose smile was fixed in a face that was never off
you're scared and you're thinking That maybe, we ain't that young anymore Show a little faith, there's magic in the night Ain't a beauty, but hey you
cumulus clouds Your a black rose lost in my black flag Motel strange corridors With the only sensor receptacles receiving technical difficulties Mics philiac ?? No gimmicks A
breasts mad, hair wrapped Wilma style, chunky, that's how I like my batch You a rose from the hood, smoked out of 89 We headed back, you had a baby by
currency rushes like popping a wheelie Holding a pipe with one hand, the other down in the Bentleys You know how it be with the peppermint Clarks Throwing darts at a
Ghost, Black African rose Star-studded low lenses, plus the mural was dope Airbrush W B's, stop (Shake your body, body) And cop a couple of these (She's a
ain't your average hero Movie premieres, catch me with the zam enginero Six six eleven gold, playboy industrialist Face of a ghost, mind of a technologist