strangers Taking candy from babes Shaking hands in a big top As the rain came down I though it would not stop Sending letters to Paris From the Empire state Taking
a glance, please return it, please return it Eight, eight is the hour Hour of our trials, ours too sickening to live Please return it put it back I'll take
for life, this is Roc-a-Fella for life I play my parts with the honies hard It's gotten even worse now that the money's washed Like a letter y'all, the nine-eight
jig A change of winds has brought us in a letter of Marque So collect your piece of eight assured I?ll cut your halter free And I?ll take you in like
same lessons That he was stressin' to me Nigga, it's in yo blood, you gone be a thug no matter the cause Niggas born to floss, an' be the boss that's
for equivalents I just don't quite know how to wear my hair no more No sooner cut it than they cut it even more Got to admit that I created private worlds
carry four or five daggers an' three or four guns I'd shoot craps an' ramble an' hang out late I'd steal baby buggies an' Cadillac Eights If my friends didn't write me those letters
that she said Cigarette breath caresses eight letters of death And the stress is a task to the things that she left And everyday it's his feeling that
carry four or five daggers and three or four guns I'd shoot craps and ramble and hang out late I'd steal baby buggies and Cadillac Eights If my friends didn't write me those letters
gamble and I'd louse around I'd be the meanest man in this whole town If I hadn't seen the light in that old lady's eyes I'd try to be a man that you
tell the people that the legends are back, yeah [Slim Thug] It's Slim Thug showing H-Town love Used to hit the club on dubs, acting bad on scrubs (thats
myself. I'm a molotov cocktail. You're Dom Perignon. Baby, what's that confused look in your eyes? What I'm trying to say is that I burn down buildings
his grave, never that T.S. got his dreams and discourage the brave, remember that I been bustin guns since the infamous days of leather hats Varsity sweaters with big letters
's the E, the E, the E, the E [Verse One] Member that game Fat Bank Take Skinny Bank? Well now we play Skinny Bank Take Fat Bank That's because it ain
the mic With one minute rhymes That don't come out right? They bite They never right That's not polite [Young Zee] I got great skills And if my record sells eight
Or start tellin' folks that you suddenly gone lame Or that white folks had finally co-opted your game Or worse yet implying that you don't really know... That
sixteen shot Nigga was hot, took the glock and hit me dead in my knot Honey started to panic and yelling that money in spanish Thinking he's out to take