One thousand, 'nay, a million voices, full of fear. And terror posessed me then. And I begged, "Angel Of The Lord, what are these totured screams?" and the Angel
s Empires Are Tomorrow's Ashes" on soviet red vinyl It's going on the wall next to "Tubthumper" and "The Battle Of Los Angeles" Of Los Angeles
whiter than the coke brush that they paint me with sunk leather seats softer than an angels kiss but the devil red, tires double tread I'm posting parks
is some laughter And a season to sleep and a place to get clean Maybe Los Angeles, somewhere no one's expecting On a detox loft, through a Glendale Park
I am never real, it is just a sketch in me And everything I made is trite and cheap and a waste Of paint, of tape, of time So now I park my car down
pagan culture), notices Margaret has a friend with her, Martha, the most sophisticated girl in Indiana (Life Has Been Good), and one who has seen action not only at Arlington Park
I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396 Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor She's waiting tonight down in the parking lot Outside the Seven-Eleven store
defeat Running for our lives at night on them backstreets Slow dancing in the dark On the beach at Stockton's Wing Where desperate lovers park
life on the water Runnin' down the beach at night with my boss's daughter Well he ain't my boss no more Sandy Sandy the angels have lost their desire
the modern man of clarity an MC of rarity truly a rock odyssey gotta see I'm odabe an a mentally parking me follow me if you'd be angels where fools
told to Puts on a show in front of the whole damn world I pray to the heaven to try to save her soul 'Cause that sweet little angel is not the girl
Yo this goes out to hip hop world wide. Straight from leimert park, california, los angeles. Yo, everybody in the hip hop struggle, in the life Struggle
This is Mr. Capone-E Talk about my angel (Pretty Lady) Mo magic From NB Ridaz Com? On To me your like an angel (oooh) Someone that was sent to me
Uh And I'm Draped Up and dripped out Eighty-four spiderwebs, got your boy tipped out [Repeat Chorus] [Verse 2: South Park Mexican] I got chicks like
rude, and scratching my testicles With a cold two-liter in hand Rapping to the bitch at the french fry stand Take it to the patent park Then I'll make
Just out walking, letting my mind roam If she hung around too much I might take her for granted But when I was away, she seemed an angel The only one
car Walked through the door, checked the bitch at the bar Eyin' her down, while I split my cigar Can I offer you a drink or some dick in the park? You
fight He'd just pulled into town In an old green 1953 Chevrolet pickup truck With whiskey bumps all over it And the right front fender falling off He coasted on into a no parking