Letras:
Cold Black Sunday

I can't breath at all It hurts to think that a sound could heal my wounds feeling I've been betrayed Black Sunday still burns you in my thoughts

I can't breath at all It hurts to think that a sound could heal my wounds feeling I've been betrayed Black Sunday still burns you in my thoughts

sad eyes passing in windows flimsy and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching Black Sunday

I'm the Black Ace dog-handler: I'm a waiter on skates so don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion. Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast

Well, I'm the Black Ace dog-handler: I'm a waiter on skates so don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion. Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast

for each day In the womb of Patricia his darkness queen Angel dusted flashed-out wedding Midnight hour, black magic shop One hundred black candles lit

R.O.M.E.O. Pistol packed with a crew'o fly slimmys hat turned back in some Airwalk jimmys Never slackin hoes I be mackin not wacked I don't try to act black

: (feat. Fat Joe) [Verse 1: Fat Joe] Wrist on froze, thanks to the stove; Mattress financial, bank's never closed; Monday to Sunday, serve all addicts

was cold and damp TV is just a blank Looks like another dead end sunday What about an early night Monday never feels so bright Ooh the sheets feel cold