: I've got scars to prove it i've been roaming on Sainte-Catherine street i can show you my enemies they're out there selling shit to kids check this
I've got scars to prove it i've been roaming on Sainte-Catherine street i can show you my enemies they're out there selling shit to kids check this shit
[Music by Dee Harrington and Richard Lynch] [Words by Richard Lynch and John Lynch] Out on the street No where to go Losing my mind Losing my soul A
baby, why so jaded? Have the boys all grown up and their beauty faded? Billy, what a saint they've made you, just like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls
Lord I'm addressing my mess He's superior across the board like checkers and chess That's why we hype now, ain't putting the mic down Lamp on a hill
able with fables and street myths (1: 4) As the clock ticks so our condition gets more sick Our condition is fallen so Christ gave us a free gift For this end saints
sleep on the streets And haven't eaten in weeks, so save a prayer for me And all the young thugs, raised on drugs and guns Blazed out and numb, slaves
Blue. The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense Take what you have gathered from coincidence The empty handed painter from your streets Is drawing crazy patterns on
telling me I wear the ball and chain. My patron saint is a-fighting with a ghost He's always off somewhere when I need him most. The Spanish moon is rising on
saint." Down the hallway footsteps were comin' for the Jack of Hearts. The backstage manager was pacing all around by his chair. "There's something funny going on
: It feels like I'm walkin' on air When we walk down our street When the neighbors stop to watch us walk by You can hear 'em talking (let them talk)
the dream We're barely holding on when I'm in way too deep We're two paychecks away from living out on the streets She's a workin' single mom, like a saint
hotel someplace, And a wound that will never heal No prima donnas, the perfume is on It's an old shirt that's stained with blood and whiskey And goodnight to the street
pas le taxi et les restos sur mes abattement Sans danger appararent comme un poseur d'bombes si on pisse ensemble on sera pas sur la meme longueur d'ondes On
super eight He rides `er low on the hip, on the side he's got Bound For Glory in red, white and blue flash paint He leans on the hood telling racing stories
beatin' faster as you struggle to your feet Then you're outa that hole and back up on the street And them South Side sisters sure look pretty The cripple on
