$outh $ide $uicide

Outside in an all black ride, tint rolled up when I’m high
Said they all wanna live, but I just wanna die
Mo-Motherfucker, if you’re looking for me, find me in the night
I got a knife, don’t wanna fight
I wanna take your fucking life, and end it right on sight
When I strike, if you bark, better bite
Block hot, fuck the cops, pop a six-shot Glock
Then I trot to the rocks, with me own blood clot
Red-dot, bodies drop when I cock, then I spot
No tomb, no plot, throw ‘em off of the yacht, undocked
With the slot of the skull hangin’ in the fucking river, ho
$ui-$uicide, 6-6-6, 59, so cynical

Got a pound in the blunt, I’m loungin’
Pour another round, I’m drownin’
Climb to the top, I will jump off the mountain, ayy
Swerv-swervin’ in a motherfucking all-white Crown Vic’
Blue light mounted, siren howlin’
Stole it from a cop because he popped another brown kid (ayy)
Got the town lit up by the flame that I made
From my grey serenade, make way for the Plague
On the seventh day, grey bodies lay in they graves
Still got the badge, still got the gun
Still got the patch, still got the stun
Still got the cash, bitch, I burn it for fun
Put the Glock to my skull then I—

Yuh, yuh, yuh
$outh $ide $uicide, kill yourself, ho
Say you gettin’ money, but your numbers don’t show, you a liar
Baseball bat fully wrapped in barbed wire
For anyone that’s tryna get by us (bitch)
I been thinkin’ a lot, I see these rappers tryna get at my spot
Robb told me: You gotta get it how you live
Told that bitch: You better get up out my biz
Pickle-breath-ass ho with a face like thizz (Shut the fuck up)
You don’t want no issue with
Nose seen more blow than most nose seen a tissue
I got anxiety so I can’t really do a interview
Don’t come close to me
I’m not the one to really do it how it’s ‘posed to be
Independent, tell that label to get over me
I’m over here with my peers, gettin’ rich point blank
Before I bring her to the crib, make sure that bitch don’t stink
Ain’t no rules to the game, talk how you want (yuh)
Walk how you want (yuh), my job is the shit
I used to clean up shit from the rim of the toilet
Now I’m gettin’ money, I don’t gotta pack a pistola
Okay, maybe (maybe)
‘Cause jealousy make a man go crazy
Money make a motherfucker hate me
One thousand bitches, they all wanna date me