Suicidal Thoughts

Notorious B.I.G.

The man whose music someone wrote somewhere was somehow, in some way responsible for the French riots! Set to something with a faintly Indian chord structure playing in the background, over an insistent beat.
“When I die I want to fuckin’ go to hell, cause I’m a piece a shit, it ain’t hard to fuckin’ tell. It don’t make sense to go to heaven with the goody-goodies dressed in white. I like black Tims’ and black hoodies. God’d probably have me on some real strict shit: no sleepin’ all day, no getting my XXX lit. Hanging with the goody-goodies, loungin’ in paradise, fuck that shit. I want to tote guns and shoot dice. All my life I’ve been considered the worst. Lying to my mother, even stealing out her purse. Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion. I know my mother wish she got a fuckin’ abortion. She don’t even love me like she did when I was younger. Sucking on her chest just to stop my hunger. I wonder if I died would tears come to her eyes. Forgive me for my disrepect, forgive me for my lies. My baby mother’s 8 months, her little sister’s two. Who’s to blame for both of them? I swear I want to just slit my wrists and end this bullshit. Draw a magnum to my head and threaten to pull shit, and squeeze, until the bed’s completely red… I want to leave. I feel like death is fuckin’ calling me…

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