wanna lay it for at you, at your own crib Talk out the ass, at your own risk, it wont give one fuck Two mysterious Chevy trucks filled with black cats
mic that's hot, to leave your brain inflated Plus, I'm thick like Quakers on papers Bodacious MC's get turned to lower cases lettering, and the medicine
+ Mobb Deep, bring it down Once again bring it live, yeah, like this I'm on a path not thinkin bout a average man Black Sedan my way through pitfalls
open letter to the Rev. Jesse Jackson We, the members of the Mojo family, feel that your actions and retoric as a self professed leader of the black
paint black the card when you put it at my place. burn away the scar and from my memory erase like in the morning when the dreams are gone. in a history
Letter man on the varsity team, I pipe dream Make they cream freeze like reindeer caught up in high beams Yo it seems that they sedative like open wounds
Letters in pencil, some of them as heavy as lead, as dated as carbon, as black as coal, but burning as red. Clues faintly stencilled: the message, though
translation:] [Suicide Letter Of Prometheus] For some time a wound pains That, gaping their enjoys the suffering From which she creates since the hour The black
your throat with the premise Middle of New York with a sack full of action Cash with the school kids toke crack with magnums Def Jukie, jet black, black lungs, black
will I die, will I die? I belong to a line of red scent, teach the heart to reflect. the wound is wise for primal black eyes theres a scarlet letter in
Underage girls having seeds at the age of seventeen Baby daddies signing up for the marines Black streets filled with crack and pipe dreams Fuck peace
country boy from Singleton way Shipped to France, Wellard's the name Anything but to be labeled as a shirker the shame of being sent a white feather in a letter
your black eyeliner Do ya still think of me? And I swear I'll be so much better Now that I'm so much older A wounded, love soldier When every song I writes
: Another night in this black water rain cloud Kickin through the puddles on his way up to the Greyhound and, In his pocket is a letter from his mother