Suppose You Wash Your Hands Of The Dirt You Run Them Through All Day The Mess You Made Could It All Make Sense Sometime When You Crowd Around To Shirk
Suppose you wash your hands of The dirt you run them through all day The mess you made Could it all make sense sometime When you crawl over to show blame
Traducción: Hundred Reasons. O presente perfeito.
Messages no one will ever hear Ten thousand messages a day A million more transmissions lay Victims of the laissez faire Ten thousand voices, a hundred guns A hundred
machines Same old dreams, same old fiends Chuck T's and SP's, eight O eight's garage sale crates lifted Ya'll stay splifted, I remain gifted, hundred
