covet Reaps a poor harvest In these latter days. Starve me in Boneman torture. Skin-tight lover. Pound upon pound Of flesh paid well With gnawing ache, And hunger
: I'm looking at a funeral wagon rolling down A two-lane highway winding past a desert town A big blue canvas painted by the Master's hand The shifting
: [Diamond/Diamond] The storm was gone, but dark clouds still hung around The perfect setting for things to come, late afternoon She was still in bed
: Overkill enough is enough There's nothing left of me to devour You've had your fill I'm all I have left What can stop your hunger for power 'Cos you
Lyrics by Aldrahn] [Main vocals by Grusom and Aldrahn] I proclaim the victim's fall Now I shudder by the sight of you Crucified by my nails You hunger
Phantom, who lyin? Big screen documentaries of Idi Amin Gotta, try to stay away from creeps With they bullshit, tryin to put me back in the streets War stories, funerals
, gangstas don't die he's livin proof The D.A. who tried him was lyin A white dude, killed his mother durin the case Hung jury, now the D.A. is bein replaced
: Sorrow rides out as spectral knights A wind of grief from an open coffin When the bells of funeral chime through the nightfall A black star rises at
everybody now Hands in the air, it's a stick up, stick up No funny business or you get lit up, lit up You test I (I), you gon' die (die) And at your funeral
again everybody now hands in the air it's a stick up (stick up) no funny business or you get lit up (lit up) you test I, you gon' die and at your funeral
dead but Ima walk to my funeral (Mia Bruce) can you feel I want to know why dont you just listen to me why dont you listen to me can you feel (Brotha Lynch Hung
I don?t have regrets all the times that I was negligent Standing in the courtroom fronting like im innocent Look at how I came up Duckin undercover men Friends getting railroaded hung
everybody knows, Hands in the air, its a stick up, stick up, no funny business or you get lit up, lit up! You test I you gon' die, And at your funeral
now Hands in the air, its a stick up, stick up no funny business or you get lit up, lit up You test I (I), you gon' die (die) And at your funeral
medicate, war on love Freedom isn't given, it is taken Freedom isn't free, it's earned Not, no, it's learned Been hung and burned Yet rest in peace,
in the aquarium I rarely hear no, like when niggas ask you to marry them There's no lights in the place you buy your jewelry from Funeral fab, I'm just
know my mother wished she got a fuckin' abortion She don't even love me like she did when I was younger Suckin' on her chest just to stop my fuckin' hunger
up with black market now peep this shit gets deeper and deeper, the doomstown grim reaper and P-I-T platinum, Mr Dr. Lynch Hung we do
