Kill Yourself (Part II)

They figured me a dead motherfucker

Calling me James Spleen

Without a cause of death

I be the reaper with the black hood on his head

Yung Snow with the blood red sled

Puppet master

Bodies hanging on a thread motherfucker

Got a grey blade tatted on my wrist

I don't really need to cut it anymore

And I don't really need a bitch

Let her rot in the hole

Months later she was found just a skull

She was missing all her bones

Got her headless skeleton hanging on my wall looking elegant

Black suede element

Packing blades

Lacking Benjamins

Horns on my head looking like the tusks of a grey elephant

Looking for my medicine

Plucking the bud off of a nug

Roll it up in a blunt

Now I feel fucking dead again

Looking for a place to belong

So i say fuck God fuck the motherfucking President

Address the American residence

With just a knife and the help of a relative

Yeah that's $lick $loth

Both of us buried Ruby da Cherry under a criss-crossed cross

Covered up with a little bit of moss

Looking like a glossed out Yung Jack Frost

Paid the cost to be the boss

Now I ain't fucking dead but my life has been lost

Isn't it so convincing how I'm breathing down your neck?

Junkies in the back loading up the tec

Fuck her one time now I'm done

Homicide any time for the thrill

One, two, three, four pills

You know a junkie can't afford to get ill

See me I don't fuck with you suckas

They call me the shooter like I play for Rucker

Smokey on Friday they call me Chris Tucker

I swear on my life I don't fuck with you fuckers

$uicide cock it back one time and I shoot it

Keep it low key always gotta keep it moving

Bitches be worried bout what I am doing

Cuz they love $licky so much all because of my music

It's the Mac with the gat

That goes click clack shoot a mother fuckers back

Brains go splat

No time for a rat ho