Favorite Lyrics!

ok, for me it's any kiss , prince, or crue.

"put your hand in my pocket, grab onto my rocket"

"sittin' in the back, her head down in my lap. Moonlight shining down on her hair. Radio was playin', her fingertips are strayin'. Her mamma didn't know she was there!"

band: Run DMC
song: rock box

For all you sucker MC's perpetratin a FRAUD
Your rhymes are cold wack and keep the crowd cold lost
You're the kind of guy that girl ignored
I'm drivin Caddy, you fixin a FORD
My name is Joseph Simmons but my middle name's Lord
and when I'm rockin on the mic, you should all applaud
Because we're (wheelin, dealin, we got a funny feelin)
We rock from the floor up the ceilin
We groove it (you move it) it has been proven
We calmed the savage beast because our music is SOOTHIN
We create it (relate it) and often demonstrate it
We'll diss a sucker MC make the other suckers hate it
We're rising (suprising) and often hypnotizing
We always tell the truth and then we never slip no lies in
No curls (no braids) peasy-head and still get paid
Jam Master cut the record up and down and cross-fade

ive been busted a few time rocking out to this at red lights.

all gods chillun got rhythm

[Edited on May 16, 2005 by hellfaerie]

I can't help but sing this whenever it plays(/whenever I put it on) at work, it either gets on other people's nerves or I get them to sing along

I love this song...

Band: Circle Takes The Square
Song: Crowquill

Nothing's so lucid as the promise of dreams, but these pills we found just make me sleep. There's nothing quite so pure as the written word my dear, so lets have ourselves a little poem. Until the will to speak loses urgency. Our animal indecency in print is so blase. Its about the bell tower, at the golden hour. Angel of the spires climbs her steel cage staircase spine, angle of desire. Ascend the wrought iron, one by one, wrung by wrung. Is it the rising roofline that makes me feel so swallowed whole, or the way my body barely pricks the sky, the same as a century's worth of virgin's blood that's passed through my longing veins, scheming to convince my aching mind that pleasure's got nothing on the miracle of need. Nothing's so purile as meter and rhyme when you can't see the ground from that ledge and this perch is so far, far from the nest. Gravity doesn't grant me the privlege of failure. my bough never breaks, I don't stumble into anything. so I climb and I carve my initials in the bark with that feather I found, but its all so contrived. My genes didn't bless me with the foresight of a sage but I know how this will end, in apoligies and ink on the page. A slowly constructed crowquilled confession of my spirit to all of you, black waterproof ink scars the board, so hot-pressed, pristine and pure. A slowly constructed manifestation of "to tremble", as base as a bridge in a song and less like the poem that I promised you. Nothing's so lurid as haiku-detat on sidewalks in white outlined chalk, all I've got are these ink smeared lines. With our voices in harmony, the offering, of a crowquilled threnody