Информация о песне На данной странице вы можете ознакомиться с текстом песни Purified Thoughts, исполнителя - Ghostface Killah. Дата выпуска: 20.12.2010
Возрастные ограничения: 18+
Язык песни: Английский
Purified Thoughts |
| Take my hands out my pockets you can see my thumbs |
| Both of them turned green, from countin the ones |
| Memorized by the glory, word life |
| Cut off niggaz who killed Bill but couldn’t do nuttin for me |
| Shout 'em out every once in the blue and kid too |
| I never rocked with, laws they keep away we cool |
| I devised my own stimulus, plan I’m niggarish |
| I’m tired of eatin those crumbs and black licorice |
| The frame of mind so like cleansin the mic |
| Let the imam pray over my head and wash |
| Thoughts, sterilized, purified, Godly |
| Watch us gift men and fetch the green like barley |
| If that shit happen I’ll feed his whole army |
| Talkin 'bout the angels and peeps in Somali |
| Try to stay humble, and swallow my pride |
| In God I trust, now talk about the ones on your five |
| Crisp dollar billin, catch me in a little hut in Beneen |
| Village style, feedin the children |
| Big pots of jasmine tea with Mandela |
| Africans chantin me on like Coachella |
| Ghostface bom ba ye, kumbiya my Lord |
| My death day, 24 karat tomb I lay |
| Wishin they could bury me, next to the prophets |
| Nabi, Lut, Is’haq, Musa, Harun, Muhammad |
| Ibrahim |
| «Am I a good man?"(I don’t know) |
| «Am I a fool?"(We'll see) |
| The Lord takes me, gathering speeds before winds |
| High currents, places we formin wings |
| Kings offering, thrones was there |
| Man with the 7 crowns on his dome was near |
| Feet walked over rose petals, song from the ghetto |
| Face froze in gold like the pharaoh |
| A dawn in glory, robe of light, a powerful cherub |
| As he passed the path, white doves cost the eyes of thugs |
| Eternal heartbeat, in the dark fire in his blood |
| 700 books were opened |
| It breaks to right, they threw the crooks in the ocean |
| Scared, brass hair like it grew from goatskin |
| The chosen has spoken, tablets were broken |
| The smoke hand grabs an omen |
| Gravity grabbin me gradually draggin me through hell’s cavity |
| This is blasphemy, I fell where the jackals be |
| God felt bad for me but cast me into Caspain Sea |
| Satan draggin his key, Wu-Family's the faculty |
| K.P., K.P. |
| «Am I a good man? Am I a fool? |
| «Am I?» |
| He used to sling in the stairwell |
| Fast to put the rap on thinking cap, ignite your hair gel |
| No such thing as a fair sale |
| He’ll put the bullet out same day, delivery airmail |
| And on this level a thug’ll sell you garbage |
| No refund, the only exchange from the cartridge |
| Where the youths is kept comin back with they life earnings |
| Ready to make a deal, soul and pipe burning |
| The outcome tragic, household dramatic |
| Living rooms to, basements to attics |
| Support from the B, hit the courts from a fiend |
| who betrayed one, who had lit the torch for his team |
| So they sent him gifts, body parts per diem |
| in a box that held prints but too dark to see 'em |