Well all my heroes let me see your hands as we dedicate one last jam
to you brothers sportin argyle socks and rockin goodwill Ts with his hair in the breeze and break-away pants half way down to his knees
CP, please tell all these mark-ass little LBs to get their cheese and frolic to the side
cuz their is only one trail to tread and ive cleared it,claimed it, and named it so recognize

Buddah rock, its tearin up my eyes and i cant
see your face its just a haze of waves takin me
back somewhere along the lines of beauty i have found Eden,
now im never goin back
we're out of time
now the shit gets loud like 95 men running for the broken escalator
like how these same cats squint but keep on towards the light right now
we might never know so instead of answering questions we just keep on asking why the light hurts our eyes
so i posed the question to a man with no land and no plans and both hands
buised by the art of diggin though trash cans, i said,"will we ever know the people and they moan?" and he said "no" i said thats not likely he said "the like is not your own."