Favourite Things [Best Version]
Me and the crew had the 40s and dank getting fucked up
Plottin on some suckas last week that snuck up
They thought they had us done, we had the 9's and clip man
Cash in the ride, hoe sealed the cocaine
Fool started shooting
I rolled down the window
Let out some smoke, car full of that indo
Pointed the Tec-9, smoked the passenger
Another nigga to' up but bitch I laugh at ya
Fools tryin to figure whether he should duck or fucking hide out
Niggas got away so we ride out
Plottin motherfuckas cuz you know I serve ya
And sucka when I see ya, its
The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry
(lyrics by D. Jole/music by G. Schoemaker)
Red mists of the morning
Rise from the battleground.
Red sun on the water,
Weeping without sound.
Silent wind blows empty
On blackened rock and bone.
Fields of grass are shining glass.
The ravens softly moan.
They're trying to
CHORUS
Wake the seven sleepers,
Deep within their cave
When the fire comes, burns everyone,
Who will dig your grave?
Wake the ancient huntsman,
Don't let dead dogs lie.
Hunt with the red-eared hounds of hell,
Ride screaming through the sky.
Children of the warriors,
World crumbling at their feet,
Can't drink the blackened water,
Can't eat the burning wheat.
Men are out a-hunting
To win the dragon's claws,
But steel knives and empty lives
Can't save them from its jaws.
Their screams will
CHORUS
Fields and hills lie barren,
Plows rusting on their sides.
Mighty ships lie empty,
Rotting in the tide.
Curtains flutter softly,
Like moths against a light.
Women turn from cities burned
And vanish from our sight.
They're going to
CHORUS