paroles de chanson Hollow - Shahmen
You
shouldn't
holler
if
you
hear
me
You
should
holler
if
you
don't
So
the
knowledge,
it'll
steer
me
'til
I'm
searing
through
your
pulse
If
you
follow
on
me
clearly,
then
you
better
listen
close
I'm
hollow
as
a
theory
of
a
man
who
sees
ghosts
Appearing
with
a
fury,
but
it's
nothing
he
can
hold
See,
when
a
shell's
hollow
and
you
stretch
skin
across
Hands
beat
it
down
and
the
drums
starts
to
talk
The
average
city
crow
grows
cold
and
unfolds
into
a
black
hawk
And
all
the
alley
cats
and
rats
getting
picked
off
Plus
all
the
trash
that
they
live
is
'bout
to
kiss
god
I
treasure
cleanliness.
Been
living
with
my
junkie
dogs
Who
find
it
hard
in
their
heart
to
give
a
fuck
at
all
Just
got
a
penalty
and
still
ain't
touched
the
fucking
ball
It
makes
me
wonder
do
I
really
want
to
play
at
all?
But
if
I
quit
that'd
be
a
kiss
on
every
haters'
jaw
And
that's
never
been
the
way
I
ever
played
at
all
Stayed
up
late,
woke
up
later
and
I
made
this
song
And
Sense
had
left
the
beat
laying
in
the
crate
forgot
Went
to
China
with
his
family
while
I
just
watched
Over
the
house
like
the
mouse
that
you
never
caught
Always
around
but
I
hide
cause
I'm
better
off
You
might
catch
me
in
the
kitchen
then
I'm
dead
of
course
Unless
you're
scared
and
I
run
from
your
deadly
force
But
all
I
really
want
is
something
like
a
crumb
of
yours
And
in
exchange
I'll
say
what's
hidden
in
between
the
doors
See
the
walls
don't
talk,
but
I
do
reports
I
could
tell
you
where
this
music
is
moving
toward
Grabbed
the
beers
and
the
blunts
from
the
corner
store
And
dived
straight
into
the
crates
on
its
own
accord
And
cracked
every
written
book
just
to
know
the
score
Sat
in
silence
just
to
learn
what
the
writing's
for
I
try
to
smile
but
the
child
is
always
wanting
more
The
old
man
always
sleeps
and
only
wants
to
snore
And
I've
risen
out
the
grave
on
my
accord
Still
I'm
caged
by
the
pain,
but
I'm
due
reward
For
all
the
bounties
on
the
heads,
that's
what
I'm
shooting
for
I
don't
want
to
win
a
battle
just
to
lose
the
war
I'm
up
the
river
trying
to
paddle
back
to
home
court
Black
Cadillac
running
on
a
half-quart
And
I'm
a
make
it
on
the
fumes,
since
you
asked
for
it
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