what could happen

Israel & New Breed

The cut wind gettin through my face
And my hands are still tied to get enough food
They wanna dance, They wanna move
But I think to myself
(think, think, think)
Theres no way for both of us

Your fingertips getting colder
closer to my little stomach
Nothing will be funnier
Without you on my bucket

Your fingertipes getting hotter
Far away from my throat
Everythin you do to get stronger
Will be like our precious pearl