Текст песне
Sick Of It All Martin

Hidden like the squalor that we create Martin wants out of this but poverty keeps him in this place Sratching like the vermin between the walls Martin

Hidden like the squalor that we create Martin wants out of this but poverty keeps him in this place Sratching like the vermin between the walls Martin

Martin Swayze Is it real son, is it really real son? Let me know it's real son, if it's really real Something I could feel son, load it up and kill

of Mercedes blues Everybody wanna fill Jay-Z shoes I call it the Ferrari sniffs, the Phantom flu 'Cause y'all sick, what already exists, can't be you I told y'all

bout as sick as cancer If you could swallow my style, you probably rip ya pants off If you could bottle my style and sell it to somebody It'd probably

Biggie and 'Pac just missed all this Watchin' all these cheap imitations get rich off 'em And get dollars that shoulda been there's like they switched wallets And amidst all

I think I wanna gee She said, my friend, it makes me wanna sing me, me, me, me, me Boss says, it's cool to come to work when you can make it Halle Berry

Siege, I grab my gun and fatigues Plead my woman and seeds, hundreds shall bleed I speak blunted from weed Do y'all really want peace or y'all wanna see

Been chasing a girl from letters to Cleo But she broke her Knee though, Mariah Carry man forget it If O.D.B hit it I cant fuck wit it! Nothing against