Текст песни Tired - Bronze Nazareth
                                                [Bronze 
                                                Nazareth:]
 
                                    
                                
                                                My 
                                                name 
                                                is 
                                                Bronze, 
                                                nigga, 
                                                I'm 
                                                usually 
                                                calm
 
                                    
                                
                                                All 
                                                the 
                                                sweet 
                                                smoke, 
                                                bullets 
                                                the 
                                                size 
                                                of 
                                                wombat 
                                                arms
 
                                    
                                
                                                You 
                                                never 
                                                catch 
                                                me 
                                                on 
                                                radio, 
                                                used 
                                                to 
                                                run 
                                                    a 
                                                fade 
                                                and 
                                                go
 
                                    
                                
                                                Tango 
                                                and 
                                                Grey 
                                                Goose, 
                                                and 
                                                Mr. 
                                                Belvedere 
                                                slow
 
                                    
                                
                                                Fell 
                                                this 
                                                year 
                                                off 
                                                the 
                                                top 
                                                story, 
                                                like 
                                                hell 
                                                is 
                                                here
 
                                    
                                
                                                Laying 
                                                there 
                                                like 
                                                Spider-Man 
                                                did, 
                                                    I 
                                                love 
                                                to 
                                                fire 
                                                at 
                                                wig
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                    a 
                                                woman 
                                                who 
                                                dance 
                                                    a 
                                                street 
                                                walker 
                                                jig
 
                                    
                                
                                                Dusted 
                                                like 
                                                them 
                                                old 
                                                records, 
                                                not 
                                                from 
                                                them 
                                                leaky 
                                                cigs
 
                                    
                                
                                                Blasted 
                                                at 
                                                wigs, 
                                                from 
                                                the 
                                                ambassador 
                                                bridge
 
                                    
                                
                                                Slashing 
                                                them 
                                                kids 
                                                who 
                                                thought 
                                                my 
                                                passage 
                                                has 
                                                slipped
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                meet, 
                                                crashing 
                                                they 
                                                cribs, 
                                                to 
                                                smashing 
                                                my 
                                                dig, 
                                                between 
                                                your 
                                                whites, 
                                                apples 
                                                and 
                                                grits
 
                                    
                                
                                                Then 
                                                out 
                                                the 
                                                bottle 
                                                like 
                                                RZA 
                                                did 
                                                when 
                                                Masta 
                                                said
 
                                    
                                
                                                "The 
                                                seed 
                                                worth 
                                                the 
                                                taking", 
                                                    I 
                                                see 
                                                worth 
                                                the 
                                                making
 
                                    
                                
                                                Racist, 
                                                retaliation, 
                                                making 
                                                it's 
                                                way 
                                                in
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                the 
                                                plane 
                                                towards 
                                                the 
                                                Trade 
                                                Center 
                                                on 
                                                banquets
 
                                    
                                
                                                From 
                                                slave 
                                                ships 
                                                to 
                                                grade 
                                                ships, 
                                                remember, 
                                                always 
                                                have 
                                                patience
 
                                    
                                
                                                Make 
                                                this 
                                                relation, 
                                                I'm 
                                                trying 
                                                to 
                                                make 
                                                    a 
                                                potion
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                patience, 
                                                engage 
                                                my 
                                                forward 
                                                motion, 
                                                never 
                                                makes 
                                                it
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    I 
                                                sit 
                                                in 
                                                this 
                                                basement, 
                                                blowing 
                                                the 
                                                same 
                                                chips 
                                                from 
                                                my 
                                                day 
                                                shift
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                the 
                                                matrix, 
                                                    I 
                                                walk 
                                                slow 
                                                like 
                                                vagrance
 
                                    
                                
                                                Aimed 
                                                at 
                                                angles, 
                                                nice, 
                                                screaming 
                                                like 
                                                devil 
                                                made 
                                                me 
                                                aim 
                                                my 
                                                shit
 
                                    
                                
                                                That 
                                                your 
                                                brain 
                                                pits, 
                                                cause 
                                                it's 
                                                forty 
                                                hours 
                                                    a 
                                                week
 
                                    
                                
                                                Shit 
                                                drove 
                                                me 
                                                insane, 
                                                with, 
                                                no 
                                                soundtrack, 
                                                or 
                                                royalty 
                                                check
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                boil 
                                                suspects, 
                                                while 
                                                he 
                                                oils 
                                                the 
                                                tech 
                                                and 
                                                puts 
                                                twenty 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                ceiling
 
                                    
                                
                                                Damn, 
                                                dunny, 
                                                you 
                                                not 
                                                appealing, 
                                                only 
                                                musically 
                                                garbage
 
                                    
                                
                                                When 
                                                walk 
                                                the 
                                                tar 
                                                pits, 
                                                become 
                                                target
 
                                    
                                
                                                My 
                                                hands 
                                                will 
                                                squeeze 
                                                guns 
                                                hardest, 
                                                my 
                                                brain 
                                                is 
                                                Pro 
                                                Tools 
                                                compatible
 
                                    
                                
                                                Stagger 
                                                dagger 
                                                slow, 
                                                or 
                                                you 
                                                will 
                                                can 
                                                get 
                                                the 
                                                calico
 
                                    
                                
                                                Turn 
                                                into 
                                                Waco, 
                                                bodies 
                                                piling 
                                                slow
 
                                    
                                
                                                I'm 
                                                in 
                                                no 
                                                mood 
                                                to 
                                                flow 
                                                with 
                                                you 
                                                wack 
                                                dudes
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ravish 
                                                and 
                                                dazzle 
                                                with 
                                                rude, 
                                                I'm 
                                                not 
                                                clapping 
                                                at 
                                                you
 
                                    
                                
                                                No 
                                                applause, 
                                                    I 
                                                need 
                                                fucking 
                                                thought 
                                                for 
                                                food, 
                                                nigga
 
                                    
                                 
                            1 Intro
2 Childhood War
3 Beat Snippet #1
4 Richteous Talk
5 Southpaw
6 Bended Knee To The Man Upstairs
7 100 Skeletons
8 He Died From Pen
9 Cassettes
10 One Day
11 Work
12 Beat Snippet #2
13 Shaolin Kung Fu Training
14 To The Table
15 Grammy
16 Solarplexis
17 Beat Snippet #3
18 Tired
19 Sinuhe (Verse)
20 Intro
21 Dopest
22 Aim At MC's 2
23 BaRonze Obama
24 Michigan Rain
25 Black Royalty (Quality Version)
26 Night Of The Long Knife
27 My Pain Is Inside These Notes
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