Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Pray, artista - Slaughterhouse.
Data di rilascio: 10.08.2009
Limiti di età: 18+
Linguaggio delle canzoni: inglese
Pray |
Lord. |
Please continue to guide, direct, and protect my niggaz |
From the world, and from themselves |
Lord can you please shine that light on your sons |
They sent you a million prayers, you ain’t answered near one |
It’s a shame |
I’m down on both knees, Father talk to 'em please |
All you put 'em through is pain, but will it ever cease? |
What a shame |
Yowwa! What up world? I’m Joell |
Sixth floor, project door, broke bell |
Only child, no brother, no sis |
Moms runnin out the door to go sniff |
My highwater pants don’t fit |
Afro growin all wild, no pic man |
Is what my teacher said for class pics |
My pops? I don’t know where he at |
He left one day, he said he’d be back |
The stove keep me warm in the winter |
I’m tired of Beefaroni for dinner |
My grandmoms got a bad liver |
I’m just watchin her fade away |
Man, I don’t know what else to say |
So at the end of every day I pray, I say |
What up world? I’m the SHIT |
I’m headed to Hell in a hand-basket |
I pop pills, abuse liquor and kill niggaz |
When I die, God ain’t gon' judge, he gon' deal with us |
That’s why them reckless quotes come with my drama |
My pops while coke-infested, cum in my momma |
I know, right? |
For those nights that I was havin them seizures |
For those mornings that I was havin trouble breathin |
C’mon listen; I was only a fo'-pound baby |
So I grew up into grown and went fo'-pound crazy |
Daddy was gangsta, mommy was passive |
Boxin gloves for Christmas, I needed classes |
My daddy beat our ass, that’s probably why we assassins |
But he’ll do anythang for me; Joey pray for me |
What up world? I’m a lost soul |
Challengin the devil standin at the crossroads |
I just shot a dirty snake with my .38 |
He shot me too, now I’m waitin at the Pearly Gates |
I seen the angel Gabriel and I came real |
A lame tried to kill me, so I aim steel |
Ask God is that somethin that he can’t feel |
I had a six-shot popper and I brought it with me |
I put his thinkin cap somewhere he never thought it would be |
I didn’t son him, he’s a daughter to me |
Instead of hangin with thugs he’s slangin drugs, shoulda got a college degree |
But growin up in the hood’ll leave your mind baffled |
We put haters in the past like time travel |
That’s my murder story, I’m past purgatory |
I need prayer though, Joey put a word in for me |