Now, I’ve got myself circlin’ over these pushers Each luggin’ a bucket of concepts crafted of every shape, element and devious ingredient one could possibly conjure And I consider my trust sacred, and if by chance it leaks in your direction, well I’ve either known you a long time or I'ma see you tomorrow The daggers that rip that bond are the sharpest But I’ll take that pain, cuz in the long run You’re probably doin’ me a favor




















