escaping if only we would... stand when the lines are breaking stand when my heart is aching stand where You want me I'll be here stand when the storm
T H U G T H U G Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday Thursday, Friday, Saturday thugs Everyday thugs we be Bone Thug, ah Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
He gets up each morning and he goes downtown where everyone's his boss, and he's lost in an angry land. He's a little man. But then he comes uptown each
electric, perfected, cooking them O's no more peanut butter sandwiches, now we looking at loaves hoes, I need a condom for my toast, busting in these n-ggas standing
he had slim chance to win it Two asses from bail so they gave glances It's Friday, had to lay for the weekend stretch First thing, Monday morning, calling
stands Six for the tax man, and one for the band Back in the studio to make our latest number one Take two-hundred-and-seventy-six You know, this used to be fun Monday
To all the thing that we shared and nothing can compare I thank you, I thank you, I thank you is what I'm saying I remember waking up early Monday morning
the path leaking into me shoes an i do talk to meself cos i'm my only best friend it's sunday night nearly monday morning again Same oul monday closed
you expect God to forgive You'll kiss your husband Monday morning see him safely on his way Then get ready for your lover it's a long time till Sunday You're a Sunday morning
dream their own financial fables, Fight to make their incomes larger--mounted on their 'credit charges.' Held within the safety of this mundane existence-- Facing endless grey Mondays
Monday morning waking up in an empty bed Thought I?d feel you next to me, but I?m alone instead Did I scare you, when I said I needed you? Or was
It was on one Monday morning About one o'clock When that great Titanic Began to reel and rock People began to scream and cry Saying, oh, Lord, we're
see you, every time I see you You're like a wreck out on the highway I can't look away and I can't pass through You're like an early morning Monday
than the meadows His hair is grayer than a ghost His lungs are blacker than the shadows That dance in circles down below You see them every Monday morning
ascending No one does for me what you do Love is the sweetest illusion Love is the sweetest illusion Every innuendo seems to be in semaphore Monday mornings
