Friday, October 20, 2006

Suicidal Thoughts, The Notorious B.I.G


When I die, fuck it I wanna go to hell
Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fuckin' tell
It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit the goodie-goodies

Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice

All my life I been considered as the worst

Lyin' to my mother, even stealin' out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wished she got a fuckin' abortion

She don't even love me like she did when I was younger

Suckin' on her chest just to stop my fuckin' hunger

I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies

My babies' mothers 8 months, her little sister's 2

Who's to blame for both of them (naw nigga, not you)
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit

And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red

I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fuckin' Buddha head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't,

I can't believe suicide's on my fuckin' mind

I want to leave, I swear to God
I feel like death is fuckin' callin' me

Naw you wouldn't understand (nigga, talk to me please)

You see its kinda like the crack did to Pookie,
in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beatstreet

People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me

My baby momma kissed me but she glad
I'm gone
She knew me and her sista had somethin' goin' on
I reach my peak, I can't speak,
call my nigga Chic,
tell him that my will is weak.

I'm sick of niggas lyin',
I'm sick of bitches hawkin',

matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin’.

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