Whoah, the girl I love, she got long black wavy hair I do declare! The girl I love, yeah, she got long black wavy hair, Her mother and her father, lordy, They sure don't, sure don't allow me there. Well i, I'm goin? back to my baby, lord i, I swear I

Good morning little school girl Sometime I don't know what I'm gonna buy me a airplane Now who's that coming, yonder? Can I go home with Can I go home with you? Tell your mother and your father I once was a schoolboy too Woman, what in this world to

A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell You who raped our Motherland I hope you're rotting down in hell For the horrors that you sent To our misfortunate forefathers Whom you robbed of their birthright Have you ever walked the lonesome hills And heard the

Where's LA? Whatever happened to the city we knew? Tell my mother, my brothers My father, and others In an old apartment Down in the garden I was born on a sunny day When the riots ruled the streets like a Sunday parade

Give me that old time Old time lovin' Old time lovin', yeah, yeah It was good they know Mother and father, yeah If that makes the no It's alright for me What I need is that old time, yeah Old time feeling

Bad boys, bad boys Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do When they come for you You chuck it on that one You chuck it on this one You chuck it on your mother and You chuck it on your father You chuck it on your brother and You chuck it on your sister

Aiyyo it's the immaculate conception Busta Bus himself And nuttin other than the godfather, spectacular X to the Zizzle That's what the fuck it is, 'nuff said YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! I want to see you motherfuckers put your hands up Stretch bitch like you doin

They call the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy And God I know I'm one There is a house in New Orleans My mother was a tailor Sewed my new blue jeans My father was a gamblin' man Down in New Orleans Now the only thing a gambler needs

It's too bad it's too bad It's too bad we had no time to rewind Let's walk, let's talk Too late, so wrong, so long It's too late, so wrong, so long Father's hands are lined with dirt From long days in the field Mother's hands are serving meals

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance Tell my mother, tell my father I have done the best I can To make them realize This is my life I hope they understand I'm not angry, I'm just saying She waved, said, "Why are you always running in place"