While you were sleaping i watched this come down i watched you forget me and dream of north we aren't talking of the things we thought we figured out
we'll be dead, (Yeah, soon we'll be dead) Our brains and our heads, (My brains and my head) They've always forgotten, when did life get so rotten? Soon I'll be dead
up) Now I lay thee down to sleep Niggas tryin' to lay me down with heat If I should die do' before I awake I pray my Lord my soul to take If dead men
nigga son. How the fuck we gon know who hit em, and they don't know who hit him. The hood talkin man everybody know. (I know its fucked up) [Verse 1] If dead
you're dead, I won't ever let you hold my hand Soon you're dead, I won't ever let you near again Soon you're dead, I won't ever let you hold my hand
On another plane- I'm out of here babe I'm sick and tired of making the grade If I threw you a lie could we still be that close? Another bridge to cross
Soon to be dead Consider me as another victim Of their plans But my choice Is not your jesus christ Now I'm dead alone and Rotting on his cross But
Dead leaves and the dirty ground when I know you're not around shiny tops and soda pops when I hear your lips make a sound when I hear your lips make
the facial turn into a human tornado, yes I'm able, cut up the gonga, I'm Philly label blunt sponsered, blaze mo than a Grateful Dead concert, Smoke
] Sadly, tragedy happen Lost in captivity, imagine me happily clappin Big barrels, heavy ammo, man the mammal Packed in commando, rapidly practice supreno Crack my fingers on pianos
a sister in the name of rap yet you wanna talk shit and your style is whack I would have squashed it before and made the whole issue dead now I'm fed
home By itself, it's just a cold metallic thing Only love can make a golden wedding ring In a little wedding chapel, later on that afternoon An old upright piano
[Young Chris talking] Where that pian sat at (uh) Young Gannas (chea) What up niggas; Niggas got till January to get they shit together; You hear that
at the dance Inside of your mind or inside of my pants? Musical intention that we have is vast You sick, drink a NyQuil, well, I'm dead on your Oh well
out the do' And he fell on the sidewalk, dead When Frankie Frankie, got the news The jury want him dead She come runnin', hollin' Lord,
I'm dead and gone Baby, when I'm dead and gone Yes, you gon' miss me, amen Baby, when I'm dead and gone Well, you say I got the T.B. Now-ow-ow I'm dead
Sitting here wasted and wounded at this old piano Trying hard to capture the moment this morning I don't know 'Cause a bottle of vodka is still lodged
Single #5219 Pop Chart #60 Aug 3, 1959 R&B Chart #13 Reissued as King #5452 Pop Chart #60 Jan 23, 1961 With Ernie Hayes-piano, Mickey Baker-guitar Emile
