molest and destroy just a five year old boy And you make me suffer, motherfucker Ripped my heart out I was only five, five, five Five, five, five, five, five
losing my mind You molest and destroy just a five year old boy And you make me suffer, motherfucker Ripped my heart out.. ...I was only five... ...Five
Übersetzung: Machine Head. Fünf.
give a fuck Stack my chesse up Cause one day I'm a give this street life up Beef I don't discuss A nigga outta line gone get his motherfuckin head bust
heavy weight, make no mistake Triple beam wit da lean, the man wit da cake Shake don't stir my drank, nigga you aint Gon' get out alive without spendin five
as a youngster Stack my chesse up Cuz oneday I'm a give this street life up Beef I don't discuss Wodie outta line wodie gone get his head bust Cash Money
to talking in codes, the phones bugged. (uh-huh!) This Ferrari, I get to the green. - Half man, half machine. Tu-tu-tu! - I'm on ya head with the beam
day I figured I was ready for Cassius Clay I said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come 26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mine Five
of the big score the night before Met the connect, who was impressively dressed In high fabrics With troops like Babe Ruth, up on the mezzanine Brandishing sub-machine
a fan -- you wanna get signed? Get the Withest A&R you can find Pull him aside and rap as wack as you can Lesson Five: Get a hook-up at Jive Dress up
venting let's shove a vending machine Up his rear end when he's bending over pretending that he Didn't say anything that would be offending to me Stick his head
it down I'm hard as pavement, you gaze from amazement Knock you in the head you wonder where the days went It's golden bangles, microphone getting strangled Five
t nothin but trouble God When I kick in the door with D-Block, Bravehearts and the Double R Don't make me let the machine off This is methadone music
I touch somethin? What the Blood Clot!?! Nigga want Tical, make it happen You know my fuckin style, fuck the rappin! We can take it back to eighty-five
you to smithe-reens Fuck the marines, I got machines To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine I fly more heads than Continental Wreck ya 5 times like
will have a stereo and TV, A deep freeze, quadrasonic and a washing machine. So workers of the nation unite. I am your man I'll work out a five-year
