the n.y.streets A cop was shot in the head by a 10 years old kid Named buddah in central park last week The fathers and daughters are lined up by the
riding with my (angel) Going through the city of the Chi, make me feel like I'm in the city of (angels) Oooh, I wanna fly, fly away with my (angel) She
wonder why in the fuck we thugs I got to show my ass To thank these motherfuckers for my past In South Central, Los Angeles Grand mama smoke cannabis
your body And ain't no stoppin' when the ladies come to rock it I steal the baddest drink, then the best fabrics Leathers and the Cz's and the S classes Ghetto angel
Michael McGrory from west Donegal You came to Glasgow with nothing at all You fought the landlord then the Africa Korps When you came to Glasgow with
Written by Kevin Bacon Strings written and arranged by Michael Bacon "A guide book for the paranoid." KB I'm in Paris, won't be here long But
like a woman to sell a few copies, dis respectin Michael, Em you gettin sloppy, your albums atroshish, Jimmy's scared in double, fuck D12 cause there careers are in trouble, Angeles
I could spit at yo dame Straight out the good book, look, niggas is shook Fifty fear no man, warrior, swinging swords like Conan Picture me, pen in hand writing lines
Come on 'cause, we almost there We almost there 'cause Goddamn, where the finish line? Fuck this shit, I need some chees And I need the cookie and the
Shabazz Denzel Washington, Coretta Scott King Morgan Freeman, Angela Davis James Earl Jones, Nat King Cole Curtis Mayfield, Bob Johnson Marvin Gaye, Johnnie Cochran Berry Gordy, Nat Turner Michael
brain, I could spit at yo dame Straight out the good book, look, niggas is shook 50 fear no man, warrior, swingin' swords like Conan Picture me, pen in hand writin' lines
I could spit at yo dame Straight out the good book, look, niggas is shook Fifty fear no man, warrior, swingin' swords like Conan Picture me, pen in hand writin' lines
way We go together like a potter and clay Girl, you're all that I want I need you up around my way Michael Angelo would faint Rembrandt would cry To stand in line
visions He licked the spittle from the cheeks of the wry And drifted back to when his stung its target The sneer of Michael on a glorious high Of angel
you walk the N.Y. streets A cop was shot in the head by a 10 year old kid named Buddah in Central Park last week The fathers are lined up by the coffins
be in the garden like R. Wallace Movin' rocks like the Grand Canyon man The forty-five throw bullets like Randal's hands I'm from Los Angelos man You
, Calvin Klein Donna Karan's fashion line Valentino, YSL Ferragamo and Chanel Holsten, Gucci, Figla, Rucci Don't forget my Pucci Fendi and Armani God, I miss Gianni Kenneth Cole, Michael
signs Maybe baby You'd better check between the lines Please read the letter, I Wrote it in my sleep With help and consultation from The angels of the
