mind, out of your depth You should have taken soundings We're clutching at straws, we're clutching at straws clutching at straws And if you ever come
Traducción: Peixe. A última palha.
want it, my attitude is running I don't ask if I want it, my attitude is running, yup Mega ice neck, with some fish, with some fish dishes Rakim gems,
fingers trace the star-spangled clouds of cocaine on the mirror The short straw took it's bow The tell tale tocking of the last cigarette Marking time
I love real things built to last Hardwood floors and stone fireplaces And lookin' back on the past Ice cold beer, fish that fight Wise, old bucks and
the hash, tony chapstick Snatch rza last piece of fish right off the glass dish Butter roll beats bagel tracks wavey hair decks Lay it down straw hat
Flaudelant emcee's get burned by the lighter You don't know the half, cause soul crash my cipher [Verse 2] Superstar I jaw the first, we rush last and
first one out, and last one on the corner This life is a hustle any day you be a goner P89 Ruger with the silence off Little clipper sellin' spitballs goin' through straws
Wear alotta blue but I love the red Somethin' all black, think mad 'cuz I act like I'm all that Tight braid red bean under my straw hat Tripped over
I nutted U-turn, took her right back (What, what, uh) It's like that, she don't know how to act I'm a pimp without the Cadillac (Yeah) A mack without the straw
enemies, do you know who they are? (There they are) A devil with the dorags be walkin', now I had it up to there Oh yeah, that's the last straw (The
dog, mike, Seemed determinedly against her. He was always nipping her feet And chasing her into rooms where she didn't want to be. But the last straw
but I love the red [B. Stille] Somethin all black, think mad cuz I act like I'm all that Tight braid red bean under my straw hat Tripped over ya jaw
it, my attitude is running I don't ask if I want it, my attitude is running, yup Mega ice neck, with some fish, with some fish dishes Rakim gems, my mind
first one out, and last one on the cOrner This life is a hustle any day you be a goner P89 Ruger with the silence off Little clipper sellin' spitballs goin' through straws
I love real things built to last Hardwood floors and stone fireplaces And looking back on the past Ice cold beer, fish that fight Wise, old bucks And
in the house Someone?s coming through the gate When the doorbell sounds like an air-raid siren I am lying in wait People used to come around They fish
