I No Longer Fear The Razor Guarding My Heel (IV) - $uicideboy$

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 truck to the front

And shirt unbuttoned, seat adjusted (Ay)

One hunnid miles per hour

Bitch, I seem accustomed to life in the fast lane

Nothin' in the motherfucking gas tank

Dumpin' ashes and laughin'

Fucking ducking 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 fucking 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

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

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

Meet me by the moon (What?), 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 bottle 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

Ayy, you ever had to dig your own grave?

Live your life with no name?

Backwood full of romaine, okay

'96 Benz with the cocaine paint, hoe

High until my death, I got a propane tank low

Gas seepin' all over the house, until my say so

Light the fucking 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.

Um, 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 fucking scream it from the rooftop

The only thing I ever did worth mentionin'

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, let’s get a bunch of face tats, it’s goin' to be cool)

(Soundcloud, yeah, like a Soundcloud rapper, aye, man)

(Cut that shit off man those boys suck, man, garbage, man, sound like a fuckin'

generic Three Six, man, you dumb, bitch)

(You whore, get the fuck outta here)

Yeah, still feel like I’m losing, ay

Me and kin still feel like we losing, ay

We still feel like we losing, ay

Losing, losing—

I’m on the lean, yeah, that drank

I’m on them bars, don’t wan' think

I’m on a lotta amphetamines, got no time for sleep

Lost in my thoughts

I don’t know who a friend or 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