'm comin' home, I'm comin' home Can you see my head, my head is bendin' low I hear those gentle voices calling, "Old black Joe Old black Joe, old black Joe
comin' home (I'm comin' home) Can ya see my head (my head) is bendin' low I hear those gentle voices calling Old Black Joe Old Black Joe Old Black Joe
Übersetzung: Van Morrison. Old Black Joe.
' home (I'm comin' home) Can ya see my head (my head) is bendin' low I hear those gentle voices calling Old Black Joe Old Black Joe Old Black Joe
cut his wife throat I'ma play it how it go, hold a black connect sho' We went to school for this, we spend bins like a pro Go chill with the Joe, Say
watch 'em get pulled out from under a fuckin house He didn't diserve it Joe Casey is an old G I take his advice, he one of the old G's on Valence street
to get my grims off Nigga tryin' to flip and its a Mexican stand off I'll put a hole in your grill, with the nine mil Dressed in all black, lookin' for
the shit that I'm on Consider this the first chapter in the ghetto's Quran I know a lot of niggas that get dough like Remmy and Joe And Prince and Rightous
Steve know not to wear that platinum shit around me I'm a klepto nah for real son I'm sick I'm bout to stick Slick Rick for all that old school shit
Sam? Prepare to fuckin' die Fuck Crazy Joe, my name is Crazy Flow You thought I had eight, but I got ten mo' Off beat and on beat, old school like Beat
there was When they asked him why it had to be that way, "Well," he answered, "just because." Larry was the oldest, Joey was next to last. They called Joe
where history stopped to shit And I'm driving on the road that Hitler built I'm driving on the road that Stalin built next There's more holes in Joe
up at my club dates (go and talk shit I'll) shut you up with duct tape This is goin' out to DJ's with vinyls For every hip hop head-black to albino Record
all Broke em all down and unrapped em all Just two words nigga duffelbags i just know it so well I cant help but brag, old man got 10 mail man got
things Who dreams dunkin over cars, let the choir sing [Game:] It's that black raw, black dawg pullin up on that black home Compton that's my backyard
then you pay Bitch, I'm on a trapeze with no legs in the dark Yelling "Go Shady" driving slower than an old lady In an old '89, no piece if you pay me
