Prosperity for everyone
For every race and creed
This earth with its abundance
Has everything we need

So let us treat earth lovingly
And every person too
Let’s think about the ripples
That flow from what we do

Our views - they may be different
But still we share this place
On the surface of our planet
Amidst light-years of space

Prosperity for everyone
Please heed this clarion call
With work and love
We can create
Prosperity for All

Whose heart is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown. I cry hello.

She gives her heart a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.

The heart is dull, empty and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Until then, she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed with ducts that weep.

She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolizes being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.

brate be
seven feet
balkan handz

yugo betrugo
atm tear it off
toni da serb
rade belgrade

brate be seven feet
balkan dropkick
es ist optik
es ist kopffick

we so yibbish
we so yibbish
diz is fibbish
gimme widdish

diz be the last day
of yous ridiculous stay
on this world
last day of ya stay

gimme your girl
gimme da cash
para be stammel
du hammel ik fick dich

he a sturdy kidic
aber keine wichtig!

come over and watch
gimme some cash
i'll cut ya head off
yous trash
ain't no madov
ya
know the code bro

inspire me baby
shorty now a sporty
nach dieser feier

gimme some raki
my pantz be khaki
benz like stasi you
know the code joe

gimme gimme gimme
bibi bibi bibi

ain't no real like
the copy of a copy
du opfer ich schneide
deinen kopf ab
eingeweide
quill'n
you gotz to chill

we so yibbish
we so yibbish
diz is fibbish
gimme widdish

jacket originally stolen
cevape and börek
para and babas
we don't care yeah

life be quick
touch my d##k
rub my d##k
life too quick

energy months
mothman *****
michael myers' titts
hyper years

feel me like an o.g.
you know the code brate
wenn ich deine fresse schlage

yugo betrugo
ebonics we got this
yugo betrugo
brate in die fresse pate

we so yibbish
we so yibbish
diz is fibbish
gimme widdish

ain't nothing new
check the views
just one fu##in fan
will burn ya jam

hip hop colors
flip flop mamas
beach feelingz
we need ringz:

MASSIVE

we need chainz:

CUBAN LINK NECKLACE 1 KG CLASSIC

Giving an opinion is to open a window to one’s perspective
It can require introspection but is far from always definitive
People usually want it to be objective
While opinion, to me, can be nothing but subjective

Opinions lie on knowledge and experience
Two things that bolster one’s body of evidence
Establishing a thin or thick line of reference
To which we all offer multiple marks of deference

Could that explain why it’s always so difficult to make it budge?
Is it like becoming a referee or embodying a judge?
Are there any rules that should be strictly followed?
Any piece of advice, decisive, immutable, somebody ever sold?
What’s sure is that everyone’s entitled to an opinion, I’ll never hold a grudge
Because rejecting exchange would be nothing but a smudge.

When not arguing facts, is anybody really right or wrong?
I would like to believe so depending on the subject
One decisive element should unarguably be the context
Because without weak there’s obviously no strong.

The ultimate key lies in the word “listening”
Socrates used to say “I know that I know nothing”
If so, what do I know? I’m asking!
If you bring your ear closer, you could hear just something
That might uncover a clue, changing
Just a little or more of what you’ve been believing
Altering your opinion on a specific matter
Making you nothing more than a bit wiser.

The cold reveals the air being taken
By a foreigner who has just awaken;
They hear the rain hitting his tent
And smells an earthly scent;

They pack the tent into a pack
And lifts the heavy load onto their back;
Begins the journey over the mountain
To see what beauties in contains;

The thickness of the fog is great
That it makes it difficult to travel straight;
The rain picks up as the wind blows harder
Which makes seeing difficult for the wanderer;

But the fog clears as the winds die,
The rain calms down as it falls from the sky;
The journeyman sees a clearing close by
And what it reveals could make anyone cry;

Drops rain down from heaven above
To the earth that absorbs it like a sponge;
The grass and trees become greener,
The air and ground grows colder;
Truly a beautiful sight for a traveler’s eyes.

I used to think I was flawless, truth is I am less than perfect.
I can't believe how awful I am, but I mean, what do you expect?
I am less than perfect, that much is true, but I can't help but wonder
What does perfection physically look like? Each of these ideas I plunder.

I don't know. I'm not sure about anything anymore. Haven't a clue.
Everywhere I look, it's just multiple copies of the darkest shade of blue.
Everyone stares at me, their soulless eyes, a dead, glazed look.
So I try to keep my head down, hiding behind my many notebooks.

Perfect. Why even have a word for something that doesn't exist?
It's a useless word, something I try to avoid but it always persists.
Sometimes I think about if I were perfect. What would I look like? Act?
Then I try to push the many thoughts away, they're way too abstract.

What does it mean to be perfect? It means to not have ANY flaws.
That's all I'll ever hear, "Be more perfect, you'll gain some applause!"
I hate that I have live with this idea of perfection, it's a "utopia", so dumb.
So I have to change myself to be the person that people want me to become.

Those who were born without wings
can never know the taste of the
sky

Me, I fly up in the air and
can never understand that dreams can
die