(Aye, yuh, yuh)
Reach into my pocket, and I grab a couple crumpled hunnids
Weed look like some crumbled hunnids
Blunted out, the fuzz is hunting (woo, woo!)
Paranoia turn my stomach
H1 Hummer, rough and rugged
Desert camo trunk to the front, and shirt unbuttoned
Seat adjusted (aye)
One-hunnid miles per hour, bitch, I seem accustomed
To life in the fast lane
Nothin’ in the motherfuckin’ gas tank
Dumpin’ ashes and laughin’
Fucking duckin’ what comes from the Government (fuck)
Peelin’ out into the sunset (fuck!)
Eyes so low, look like a sunset
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away (away!)
Back on my bullshit, know how to pimp it
Put my foot on the fuckin’ brakes
Signed up for a life, became Yung Christ
All I got was a death wish, illness, and a piece of $uicide
Fuck this ego, fuck this pride
Easily execution on my side
Homicide, homicide, what we used to all the time
We in the Benz, off the benzos, our depression clinical (what?)
Ya’ hear me?
We in the Benz, off the benzos, our depression clinical, clinical
Clinical mind (motherfucker)
$uicide…
$uicide…
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away
Grey*59, bitch, I signed my life away (away!)
We are tired of this new world
I don’t want to be here
$uicide, $uicide my end
$uicide, $uicide my end
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son…
Meet me by the moon (right), half past dusk (fuck that)
Back from the dust
Cut Throat, he loves them drugs and guns
Chillin’ in the cut, got about 20k and a gun (what?)
Got a pile of Adderall, cigarette butts
Every day adds up
Do I look like I give a fuck? (no!)
Every day of every month (what?)
Bloody nights turn bloodier
Death could be right in front of ya’ (what?)
Still wouldn’t recognize her (—hold up)
Got a death list, that some still got to catch this
Bust out the TEC, quick
Die, bitch, die, bitch
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
Aye, you ever had to dig your own grave?
Live your life with no name?
Backwood full of romaine, okay
’96 Benz with that cocaine paint, hoe
High until my death, I got a propane tank low
Gas seeping all over the house, until my say so
Light the fuckin’ match, now that tank blow
So glad I stayed home
Someone call the cops from the payphone
Flames all around me, man, I hope they fucking drown me
Crown made of ashes, only way they fucking found me
Forget about me, only way you might not feel so lousy
Forget about me, on my own head, I would have priced a bounty
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
You can feel the bullets from my steel son, steel son
“In New Orleans, there were many bizarre things I always saw growing up here, especially in the graveyards. And as a child, I spent a lot of time in the graveyards—as an adult, I still spend a lot of time in the graveyards. But as a child, it was a regular weekend thing to do, I always needed to know why. Uhm, sometimes my whys got me in trouble…”
And for my last trick, I don’t think I’m cut out for this rap shit
Aye, you wanna keep going—or?
Nah, that’s it
“$uicide,” I fuckin’ scream it from the rooftop
The only thing I ever did worth mentioning ever since $lick burned me a CD of Lil Wayne
That shit prolly still in my boombox
But nowadays, I can walk into an establishment and select myself on the fucking jukebox
If I wanted to cop a black Countach, drive that shit like two blocks
And then smash in the back of a new cop car, now I think I’m wanted too
-Yeah, just get a bunch of face tats, it’s gonna be cool
(Man, fuck you. Why you acting like such a bitch?)
SoundCloud that, SoundCloud that, SoundCloud that
-Make sure y’all [?]
-Ay man, cut that shit off, man. It suck man, garbage, man. Sounds like a fucking generic Three 6, man
-Fuck the $uicideboy$
-Shitty ass music
-Too dumb. Get the fuck outta here
-Change the station, they fucking wack
-They’re way too fucking short. Get the fuck outta here
Yeah, still feel like I’m losing, aye
Me and kin still feel like we losing, aye
We still feel like we losing, aye
Losing, losing…
I’m on the lean, yeah, that drank
I’m on them bars, don’t wan’ think
I’m on that loud, amphetamines
Got no time for sleep, lost in my thoughts
I don’t know who a friend, and who a enemy
Nerves real disturbed, down from head to toe
Ever feel like sometimes you gotta let it go?
Plenty of days, I thought this shit was over
Creator of the movement, creator of the music
Still feel like I’m losing