. . You belong to someone else, and I do too. It's just crazy bein' here with you. As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat. Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street. Ninety miles an hour
Every time I walk. Every time I run. Every time I move. As always, for us. Every time I look. Every time I love. Every time I hope. As always, for us (on the street, I'm still). 내 두 발은 선뜻 걸어
Uh, what, what, uh Chorus. Street dreams are made of these. Niggas push Beemers and 300 E's. A drug dealer's destiny is reaching a key. Everybody's looking for something. Street dreams are made
Then the sweetest voice he's ever heard says, Hello. Breakfast's almost ready baby, come on home. I've thought the whole thing over and I think I understand. That the king of Oak Street is just an
lip. Why do I lash out. Why is it I always shoot from the hip. . I cruise from Houston to canal street. A misfit and a rebel. I see the winds talking to themselves. And I can understand. Why is