Silent Hill

Rouge ride the,gran hanle,tell me why I dont answer back,if I do mandos Cris up the clothes to know,what its like to be threw the night half sold, stories hit to the ceeling,flying cold its the smile of a Brown bold stroll the baby around like a cold bottle of modelo sugar bar broke,creeplike the show It get cold,the ryhme is getting old,fortold blow smoke,why isit because I want mor the boy still walks in class for a bit of a show, to blade up the arena like,a fresh buzz to the head that,tells scorns untold basicly pickin and olickin the yard of my father to get grind and some somemore like if it was yestarday,bath party to wake up from the cut throat, lime green kush,with the grip of a hair brush to melodía the,quites not on my front Windows see death,clear viewhit so it blind and soars,