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Two-thousand and seventeen master!
Every two-thousand years a prophecy is prophesied
To carry out the word of the shepherd into this cold world
That just keeps folding
I don't know,
Who is the group
What can make a mighty man run?
Make him drop his pride and hide?
Too black, too strong, wrong
Spook sambo ***** jane
You ain't so bad, nor big
White sheets make you sad
Fraid you're gonna hang,
Now that's a black thing
Boy, you scared of me
Hide ***** hide, flee ***** flee run ***** run
If I got my hood, my cross, my tree my gun
And it's a long oneHome<< Previous Page Next page>>