Слова:
Weekend Players Through The Trees

The music plays... The music plays... The morning sun Lights off my spine. The music plays Plays a distant lullaby. La la la la la la la la la

The music plays... The music plays... The morning sun Lights off my spine. The music plays Plays a distant lullaby. La la la la la la la la la

200 grams I pump a G-pack, peeping for where the D's at It's slow, lookin' for Rambo, the cop who got grazed Back in the days, chasin' niggaz through

the horizon at waist level, looking and laughing at a red faced devil. some times I'm Kurt Rambis, sometimes I'm Vincent Gallo. I might as well play

wanna ride a train up my lovers arm stop off at the brain to hop out and find out whats goin on cut through trees and ride through rocks synchronize

on the corner, Stacy Adams never scuffed up So that explains 'bout my daddy and me I mean the apple don't fall too far from the tree I was thirteen,

hard spot Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch, my life was hard knock Had so much kush and Ciroc, bitch, I think my heart stop Every night's a weekend

stopping us now, my ***** Hey, look, you could trip, clip spit, get your strip wet I got the rubber grip Smith and my rich sweats Player haters talking

band I was in in College Station, Texas. We were a little four piece band, we played weddings and parties and out on the porch and beer joints and one weekend