The Gypsy Ganster
In the blood of a swagger, their is an obsession.
The life of a ganster and all it's worldly posession.
Diva's dessing nice in sparkling ice,
hustling the strees without a comprimise.
Diamond bands coming down to their wrists.
saphire blings that you can't resiste.
They cruise the sites to claim the undead,
scoping out the clubs like with enferred;
looking for that party to take to the head.
Themusic they sell is like from a wishing well,
filing the theaters with beauty nighting-gails.
The world shakes when they preform on stage,
flashing their paper off the music they made.
They have their own a.t.m. and it is stocked with cheese,
whie they lay back at the cribs smoking on a few keys.
It is ironic and bazzare when their rapture unfolds,
like crossing their paths without paying a toll.
they ride four deep in the heat of the night,
like a shadow with wings taking flight.
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