the turning point there's nothing to be done we're darkness and light I'm disappearing into you your mind is like a maze you can't see my point of view
Can never press rewind You play the part that?s so unreal We can xxxxxxx , now pay the price Watch me walk away You try and talk about pictures burning
the point of no return, oh no. And we got love, and love'll take you higher and higher and higher, higher and higher, higher and higher, higher and higher, higher
check it out, check it out Check it out, out, out Hands up, coming with rhythms to make your head jerk Hands up, we makin' our whole joint short circuit Hands high
in the doom prepare for Satan We facing a situation while I'm drunk and scared Heavily sedated wonder will I make it to the pearly gates Or will I burn
point of view It's just our point of view (point of view, point of view) Yeah, and that's why I stay high So high, so high like ladi-da-da-da Ladi-da-
the summertime You see I roll it up and light it when my Zippo gets ignited It's an addiction at this point so what's the point in tryna fight it Pass
Whether with a free or written down bars No jewelry, piece of shit car but that's just Webby Bitchin' I'm a star I'm a star bitch No five points Just a high
should be out of bounds It's a recipe for tragedy oh baby baby Breaking the rules turns things around But even fools try to reach higher grounds It's simply temptation beyond my control Burning
will burn you up Your life is cold Your life is hard Your life is too much for words These occasions are such a relief Another point another view to
This Spear, hey Ayatollah, Idi Amin, Mennelek, Man a Masai Warrior Despair, eh Fear and desperation no depression can't tarry ya This Spear Like BURNING
drug dealers One of the best runnin' backs there never was Movin' like Barry Sanders, leavin' you in the dust [Proof] Yack is high, I got the highest
: Hands up Coming with rhythms to make your head jerk Hands up We makin' the whole joint short circuit Hands high Touch the sky Get 'em up Get 'em up
the window on turnpikes Robbin niggaz for leathers, high swipin on dirt bikes Voice be metal like Von Harper radio bubble Murder sleep away camp, the fly lady champ The arsonist, who burn
a high price, your min's gone mad Somehow the general had his way, a point of no retun The memories haunt you night and day, in your soul the burn
into that goodnight Sing us a song for me Mass hysteria Mass hysteria Mass hysteria Mass hysteria Red alert is the color of panic Elevated to the point
