Suicidal Thoughts

(album: Ready To Die - 1994)

Hello? Aw shit, nigga. What the fuck time is it, man?
Oh god damn. Nigga do you know what time it is?
Aw shit, what the fuck's going on? You alright?
Aw, nigga what the fuck is wrong with you?)

When I die, fuck it I wanna go to hell
'Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fucking tell
(what you're talking about man?)
It don't make sense, going to heaven with the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Timbs and black hoodies

God'll probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleeping all day, no getting my dick licked
Hanging with the goodie-goodies lounging in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
(you're talking some crazy shit now nigga)

All my life I been considered as the worst
Lying to my mother, even stealing out of her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wish she got a fucking abortion

She don't even love me like she did when I was younger
(get a hold of yourself nigga)
Sucking on her chest just to stop my fucking 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 8 months, her little sister's 2
Who's to blame for both of them
(no nigga, not you)

I swear to God I wanna just slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
(OK nigga what the fuck)
And squeeze, until the bed's completely red
(it is too late for this shit man)
I'm glad I'm dead,
A worthless fucking Buddha head
(wait a minute...)

The stress is building up, I can't,
(Yo, I'm on my way over there, man)
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
But no you wouldn't understand
(nigga, talk to me please, man)

You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie (the fuck), in New Jack
Except when I cross over
(ayo man, ayo man)
There ain't no coming back
(I'm how I'mma call when I got the car),
Should I die on the train track, like Ramo in Beat Street

People at the funeral fronting like they miss me
(yo where your girl at man?)
My baby mama kiss me
But she glad I'm gone
(yo put your girl on the phone nigga)
She know me and her sister had something going on

I reach my peak,
(Ayo, you listening to me, motherfucker?)
I can't speak,
Call my nigga Chic,
Tell him that my will is weak.
(ayo come on nigga)
I'm sick of niggas lying,
(cut that...)
I'm sick of bitches hawking,
(hey yo...)
Matter of fact,
(I don't yo, yo BIG)
I'm sick of talking.
(hey yo chill)

(hey yo BIG, hey yo BIG)

(Please hang up and try your call again)
(Please hang up—is a recording)