| Song | Things I Dream |
| Artist | Cunninlynguists |
| Album | Dirty Acres |
| 作曲 : Bush, Polk. W. II, Wisler | |
| (verse 1 - Natti) | |
| Arctic perspiration, heartless and impatient | |
| No angel just a devil from shoulder to shoulder pacin | |
| Fillin my gaze with hate, eyes cold as Alaskan basements | |
| Aim at rappin clay targets while labels move like the Masons | |
| I hang around outside of their building amongst the vagrants | |
| Dangerous as loaded stainless, Majority versus minority | |
| Cool as Cube's bat cocked back at the Priority | |
| Warning the flashlight cops to stop where they stand | |
| As I proceed to beat the publishing up out of this man | |
| I tell him get the fuck up | |
| They yellin how could he stand? | |
| I don't expect him to, bitch | |
| I pound him close to the land | |
| Louisville Slugger cover every inch of his noggin bobbin | |
| With every strike, askin what Heaven like | |
| The reverend might, when he visit that is | |
| If his spirit is near it | |
| But if you yell toward Hell he'd hear it more vivid | |
| But I'm under slumber, you get it? to live it I'd have to let you all | |
| (verse 2 - Deacon) | |
| Once upon a time I seen it clearer than the bluest day | |
| Got off in some crimes, seen that line turn bluish grey | |
| Q&A with self about murder, pussy & politics | |
| Word around hte world is money and I want all of it | |
| WOrld crooked like St. Ides, eye's acknowledge this | |
| Just ask them Virginia Tech college kids | |
| While ya'll wait for apologies, I'm low like a fox | |
| Get between me and yo rocks and I'll put yo ass in a box | |
| I feel the odds favor robbin a world without God | |
| Money's the language of humanity, gimme Visa cards | |
| I need ya cash and ya car, before I smash ya facade | |
| Orwatch this classic toy make you collapse to the sod | |
| Under the yard boy | |
| Since a child these thoughts lurkin in my shadows | |
| I heard em placin wagers on how well I'd face my battles | |
| Accelerate to adult, failed but never faltered | |
| I'm standing upon rock that'd make powder out Gibralter | |
| (verse 3 - Kno) | |
| Fumblin with a sweat on my fingers, something impetuous lingers | |
| Become infected with feeling so I'm electing this evenin | |
| To end my life without reason cus I'm indicted for treason | |
| Closin my eyes and I'm leakin, drag the knife til I'm bleedin | |
| Cus its light that I'm seeking, feels only right that I'm meetin | |
| With Jesus seeking redemption but he don't need my repentance | |
| For he who feels my intentions sees that my deepest depression | |
| Is feeding me to these demons that lurk and feed on my essence | |
| The pain is deep in my chest and I keep repeatin my blessins | |
| Ever since a meek adolescence that saw me beaten by freshmen | |
| Parents repeatedly sentenced, heroin needles on dressers | |
| They used to feed their infection, I can't repeat indescretions | |
| So I pause for reflection, long for honest affection | |
| And gettin lost in the music is only soothin for stretches | |
| Cus if you knew where my head is, when I'm doing these records | |
| You'd never listen to my music again, I can't let you |
| zuò qǔ : Bush, Polk. W. II, Wisler | |
| verse 1 Natti | |
| Arctic perspiration, heartless and impatient | |
| No angel just a devil from shoulder to shoulder pacin | |
| Fillin my gaze with hate, eyes cold as Alaskan basements | |
| Aim at rappin clay targets while labels move like the Masons | |
| I hang around outside of their building amongst the vagrants | |
| Dangerous as loaded stainless, Majority versus minority | |
| Cool as Cube' s bat cocked back at the Priority | |
| Warning the flashlight cops to stop where they stand | |
| As I proceed to beat the publishing up out of this man | |
| I tell him get the fuck up | |
| They yellin how could he stand? | |
| I don' t expect him to, bitch | |
| I pound him close to the land | |
| Louisville Slugger cover every inch of his noggin bobbin | |
| With every strike, askin what Heaven like | |
| The reverend might, when he visit that is | |
| If his spirit is near it | |
| But if you yell toward Hell he' d hear it more vivid | |
| But I' m under slumber, you get it? to live it I' d have to let you all | |
| verse 2 Deacon | |
| Once upon a time I seen it clearer than the bluest day | |
| Got off in some crimes, seen that line turn bluish grey | |
| Q A with self about murder, pussy politics | |
| Word around hte world is money and I want all of it | |
| WOrld crooked like St. Ides, eye' s acknowledge this | |
| Just ask them Virginia Tech college kids | |
| While ya' ll wait for apologies, I' m low like a fox | |
| Get between me and yo rocks and I' ll put yo ass in a box | |
| I feel the odds favor robbin a world without God | |
| Money' s the language of humanity, gimme Visa cards | |
| I need ya cash and ya car, before I smash ya facade | |
| Orwatch this classic toy make you collapse to the sod | |
| Under the yard boy | |
| Since a child these thoughts lurkin in my shadows | |
| I heard em placin wagers on how well I' d face my battles | |
| Accelerate to adult, failed but never faltered | |
| I' m standing upon rock that' d make powder out Gibralter | |
| verse 3 Kno | |
| Fumblin with a sweat on my fingers, something impetuous lingers | |
| Become infected with feeling so I' m electing this evenin | |
| To end my life without reason cus I' m indicted for treason | |
| Closin my eyes and I' m leakin, drag the knife til I' m bleedin | |
| Cus its light that I' m seeking, feels only right that I' m meetin | |
| With Jesus seeking redemption but he don' t need my repentance | |
| For he who feels my intentions sees that my deepest depression | |
| Is feeding me to these demons that lurk and feed on my essence | |
| The pain is deep in my chest and I keep repeatin my blessins | |
| Ever since a meek adolescence that saw me beaten by freshmen | |
| Parents repeatedly sentenced, heroin needles on dressers | |
| They used to feed their infection, I can' t repeat indescretions | |
| So I pause for reflection, long for honest affection | |
| And gettin lost in the music is only soothin for stretches | |
| Cus if you knew where my head is, when I' m doing these records | |
| You' d never listen to my music again, I can' t let you |