Blacked out, like the clouds hanging over this heart of mine Not a shadow of a doubt, blacked out Blacked out, like it was in 1968 Like Johnny Cash any given day Like a Mach 1 Fastback Mustang These Ray Bans covering up my eyes I won't lie, it hurts like

Y'all niggas better not be coming around me with that fugazi no more, you know? Got that thang for your ass, you know? (I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna I'm gonna have to leave you) A Vet stylin' at Met Gala, tuna salad from La Scala

I never meant to hurt you! I never meant to make you cry, but tonight I'm sorry momma! I'm cleaning out my closet (one more time) I said I'm sorry momma! I'm cleaning out my closet Where's my snare? I have no snare in my headphones There you go

Everybody's gonna move their feet Everybody's gonna leave their seat I feel uptight on a Saturday night Nine o' clock, the radio's the only light I hear my song and it pulls me through Comes on strong, tells me what I got to do

Someday it will come together Someday we will work it out I know we can turn it up all the way ('Cause this is our someday) Someday is what we make it Someday is like here and now What way what way what way 'Cause this is our someday Oh oh oh oh oh

I bless the rains down in Africa It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do Gonna take some time to do the things we never had (ooh, ooh) I hear the drums echoing tonight But she hears only

And I want you We can bring it on the floor You’ve never danced like this before We don’t talk about it Dancin' on do the boogie all night long Stoned in paradise, shouldn’t talk about it I want you by my side So that I never feel alone again Shouldn’t

Nigga really wanna die in the night time Tired of feelin' like I'm trapped in my damn mind Tired of feelin' like I'm wrapped in a damn lie Tired of feelin' like my life is a damn game Don't go, stay up and don't go Don't go, don't go to sleep Nigga

Big up di gyal dem weh fight it alone an ah raise two three pickney pon dem own, Weh di man deh? no man know dey home, Babylon have dem inna jail. Big up di juvenile dem inna di street, We a seh dem haffi make it an nah touch di chrome, Dem no waan wi fi

You'll always find your way back home You can change your hair and you can change your clothes You can change your mind, that's just the way it goes But you'll always find your way back home You can change your style, you can change your jeans You can