Prevod: Long John Hunter. Love prevlada.
your guys Two of them nines, better shoot them now 'less you wanna die I'm stupid high, Lord super sized blessin the dome Huggin some long John Wayne
made a solemn vow John Barleycorn was dead They've let him lie for a very long time Till the rains from heaven did fall And little Sir John sprung up
John Michael Montgomery with me, he's gunna play a lil guitar and sing a lil bit. Im gunna do a lil sumthin for yall called ride through the country, let's go John
Doin? Yeh, my names Colt Ford, I jus came here to do a little song for yall, bout where I come from, the way I see it, I brought my buddy, Mr. John Michael
is gone John, John, before too long It will be me they hang it on I will tell none of what I know Let the hunter walk where need must go John, John, before too long
Courtland I'm on the Cross Bronx with Gunz my man On the South side of town with a brick in my hand Brook Ave., Cyprus, Hunt's Point, Saint John, Little
I like his cheeks she said And well I like his chin And better I like his fair body Than all your kith and kin And he's taken up his long long sword
worst (Fucking) You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat? It's John John Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back? I
Get your head piece fractured, with killer cuts Prone to drops ya, slash ya, rip shit up Got this whole thing Tang mastered, sho nuff An MC too good to be touched, John John
s all safe? Reminds me of an overload Surrounded by chaos I'm just a hunter's prey The Angel: Benedictus esto inter peccatores, dominus tecum! John Doe
up and hand-me-downs Well my daddy hauled bills for the textile mills to pick up the little money we made Had a three room shack with a john out back
they can scare And they salute the foes their fathers fought By waving their right arms in the air Oh, look how my country's patriots Are hunting down
they can scare And they salute the foes their fathers fought by raising their right arms in the air Oh look out my country's patriots are hunting down
and brandy in the glass But little Sir John, with his nut-brown bowl, proved the strongest man at last They've let him lie for a long long time till the
hunt the fox Nor loudly blow his horn And the tinker, he can't mend his pots Without John Barleycorn John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn Barleycorn, Barleycorn John Barleycorn, John
mark. and who will lift The fog of bitterness, who [will sigh] the tide of regret? who'll avoid the Undertow of sentimental drift? who can live long
