My so called friends. Where are they now. I guess a love that bends. Isn't worth much any how. . They come and go. And talk their *. And when I really need to know. All I get is spit in my eye
The weavers live up the street from me. The crackheads, they live down the street from me. The tall grass makes it hard to see. Beyond my property Hey man, this is criminal. This hard line
