Suicidal Thought’s

Unfortunately I’m still here. Got interrupted last week, had the bag on my head when this ***** i was fucking came over and screwed my plan. Still not gong to let that fuck my plan, another day, another plan.

 

This song from Notorious B.I.G, Suicidal thought’s. I can relate to it, can you?

 

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 want to just 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’ buddah 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 But 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’.

(BANG)

(hey yo big…hey yo big)