Traducción: La Cabra Mecanica. A minha única riqueza.
Traducción: La Cabra Mecanica. Minha riqueza única história.
: La riqueza es el peor crimen. Es el peor crimen posible. Nada parece ser, ser suficiente para saciar la sed de aquellos que son duenos de, de eso
Alimentos convertidos en armas de dominacion economica un desarrollo intenso a travezde definiciones politicas No es nuevala forma de crear Riqueza
La riqueza es el peor crimen. Es el peor crimen posible. Nada parece ser, ser suficiente para saciar la sed de aquellos que son duenos de, de eso que
Jeffree Star and Breathe Carolina, baby The director yells cut but the cameras still rolling This is my life and you can't fast forward it You wouldn
As we journey along on life's wicked road So selfish are we for silver and gold You can treasure your wealth, your diamonds and gold But my friend, it
Yeah, yeah, yup You know what, I was just downstairs And I was on my way up here to the studio and A guy bumped into me And he said, he said, "Yo Kris
It was all a dream We finally made it From point A to point B And we came from Rags 2 riches (What?) Rags 2 riches (What?) Me and Will Lean came up from
There is no time to discuss or debate What is right, what is wrong for our people Time has run out for all those who wait With bent limbs and minds that
For those who work so hard Never see their children Never see their children grow Into the gifts they give them This is life is all unknown Gotta listen
I want to know what's been going on, what's around the block I like to die with the songs I love stuck in my head Seeming seamless, it was never easy
I fell in love when you were brushing your teeth, Over my kitchen sink. I have no means for distraction, No fuel that feeds the reaction. I just came
One time We were In passing I watched The future Swirling 'round, around my head And this is how it went You and I both alone sat Waiting in lines too
Episodes and parallels Don't you want the invitation Big bright accent, catty smile Oscar Wilde confrontation Ah, Live like it's the style When we waltz
I can't hold a glass of wine yet But they think it's fine to have me hold a gun, Kill a man and kill his son well, Straight down in the yard where uncle
I went sifting through old letters just to find your number written on a page. sometimes I remember secrets that you said in places nobody could trace