Los Angeles , Hollywood Highland , February 2012 .
I get up, I go to my methadone program to get my meth.
I drink my meth and I go make some money and go get
whatever I can get high on. That’s about it. fucking get high.
This is who I am, this is what the world made me
I don’t give a fuck whether you love me or hate me
I’m gonna die like that, forever at war
Hated by most, loved by few, respected by all
READ THIS BITCH.
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 with the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies
God’ll prolly 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 fucking 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 baby mother’s eight months, her little sister’s two
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’ buddah head
The stress is building up, I can’t
I can’t believe suicide’s on my fucking mind, I wanna leave
I swear to God I feel like death is fucking calling me
Naw you wouldn’t understand
You see it’s kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain’t no coming back
Should I die on the train track, like Ramo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral fronting like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I’m gone
She knew me and her sister had something going 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 lying, I’m sick of bitches hawkin’
Matter of fact, I’m sick of talkin’
Wild night at the Bercy Skatepark !
Jey Mcfly, Apo , Guillaume Le Gentil, Umberto Toselli, Thomas Bouleau, Simon stelhé Camera: Umberto and Simon. Song; The Ventures :Penetration
