-destruct - dying together All the beauty gets taken for granted All the pain gets put in the way Put in our way Contact's the fact - I need it Contact
Übersetzung: The Sound. Kontakt The Fact.
distant again, so I decided just to pick this pen Up and try to make an attempt to vent but I just can't admit or come to grips With the fact that I may
slippin a Molotov in your Cocktail (take that) Burnin your contracts, punch your A&R in the face *punch sound* Smash his glasses and turn em to contacts
in your Cocktail (take that) Burnin your contracts, punch your A&R in the face *punch sound* Smash his glasses and turn em to contacts I'm on some
me, the M-O-N-I-E L-O-V-E And I'm first cause I'm a L-A-D-I-E [Queen Latifah] Contact and in fact, the style, it gets harder Cooling on the scene with
-O-V-E And I'm first cause I'm a L-A-D-I-E [Queen Latifah] Contact and in fact, the style, it gets harder Cooling on the scene with my European partner
' again So I decided just to pick this pen Up and try to make an attempt to vent But I just can't admit Or come to grips with the fact that I may be
is me, the M-O-N-I-E L-O-V-E And I'm first cause I'm a L-A-D-I-E [Queen Latifah] Contact and in fact, the style, it gets harder Cooling on the scene with
we can what? " Said, "Sound like a plan" with my hand on her butt But shit hit the fan sho' nuff, nigga hold up Baby doll had a man, matta fact was
2 to the 3, and 1 motherfuckin' 2 motherfuckin' 3 1, and here comes the 2 to the 3, and Here comes trouble and it's all that, in fact contact You're
we can what?" Said, "Sound like a plan" wit my hand on her butt But shit hit the fan sho' nuff, nigga hold up Baby doll had a man, matta fact was a
my eyes I see heaven on a cloud All these people in a line but I can't hear a sound When I open my eyes I'm steady falling out of grace Contacted by
As simple as it sounds it's as simple as it ought to be light skin girls lack the dark skin quality ya don't understand? You want an explanation? Well
States Enterprise Diplomat of swing with aliens at my feet Comin' down the rampart through beam on the street Obsolete computes, compounds and dead sounds
from the city I don't feel sorrow and I have no pity To run up on you, and wax plus tax Your gold, your money, and from your eyes your contacts Then