Were the bad news Were the young guns Were the ones that they told you to run from Yeah, the players gonna play, and a haters gonna hate And a regulators born to regulate When it hits the fan, and it all goes down And the gloves come off Youre gonna find out just Who we are We do our talking, walk that walk Wide open rocking Thats how we roll Our backs to the wall A band of brothers Together, alone, the outsiders
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 03:30:10 +0000
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