Tekster:
Jim Burns

know I clap heat felonies on my rap sheet Front on me try to run from me hollows be up your back B Pistol pop, dime for dime, burn, baby, burn Revolver

and they won't be a nothing anymore Grow my hair, grow my hair, I am Jim Morrison Grow my hair, I wanna be, wanna be, wanna be Jim Morrison Here we are

again Damn nigga! You've no where to listen to "Forever Friendz" Bigg hitz, Bigg then asks Bigg blow, Bigg'n'Jim flies like gases (ha-ha) [Jim Rampage

tyranny of evil men But I just tell it like it is dude My life story's quite gory spittin' even if it is rude So ain't no brimstone I ain't Jim Jones

black I'm detrimental, I hop up on this instrumental Smack your face with mitts, a pile of grease filled with grits Burn you like Teddy Pendergrass, tap you on that ass I'm Big Jim

to swerve out of the way is of course the chicken. On the Lower Eastside they'd make you press a lit cigarette onto your forearm and have it burn all

no one takes that call from you Junky man tell me what your story is . . . Water I desire Some parents [sic] house is on fire Slowly the house gonna burn

to dream outside They want to pine outside They want to -- outside They want to sleep They only want to be alone outside Carl's been burned Better return

get you? Tetracycline No a penicillin cap, it burns Yo, chill Mr. Bozack No, I can't believe that screw that (Cool Jack) All you had to do was wear a Jim