The Fugees Ms Lauryn Hill Fu Gee La Bill Browne Edit

The Fugees Ms. Lauryn Hill Fu Gee La Bill Browne Edit We used to be number 10, now we’re permanent at one In the battle lost my finger, mic became my arm Pistol nozzle hits your nasal, blood becomes lukewarm Tell the woman to be easy, nah squeeze the Charmin Test Wyclef, see death flesh get scorned Beat you so bad make you feel like you ain’t wanna be born, Jean And tell your friends stay the hell out of my lawn Chicken George become Dead George Stealin’ chickens from my farm Damn, another dead pigeon If you’re mafiosos then I’m bringin’ on Haitian Sicilians Nobody’s shootin’, my body’s made of hand grenade Girl bled to death while she was tongue-kissin’ a razor blade That sounds sick, maybe one day I’ll write a horror Blackula comes to the ghetto (Stick ’em up), jacks an Acura Stevie Wonder sees crack babies Becomin’ enemies of their own families [Pre-Chorus: Wyclef Jean] Armageddon come, yo