[Verse 1: Billy Woods]
“There’s a noise in my head,” last thing my father said
On the side of a road then he was dead
Saw my first body at seven, my friend
They said he went to heaven but I remember his bike twisted
Wheels still stuck in that truck hood, so yeah I don’t sleep that good
Get up and roll a wood, feed the cancer in my chest
Tumors killed half my family, AIDS gon’ take the rest
Fuck I need a rest, diabetes kill more niggas than bullets
Gotta gat, please pull it, my aunt died waiting for a liver
So I’d rather go like my cousin, I said pull the trigger
Somebody murked him, left the body in the street
We ain’t even know he was gon’ for a week
Found out auntie had a stroke, now she don’t speak
Without Summer days is bleak
Only thing I wonder is guns or butter
Aneurisms’ll give you a stutter, or maybe some young motherfucker
Is nervous during the jux, they shot Patrice ten times
Ain’t even take the pocket book, cat scans and x-rays
Heatseeking strays, so many done I run out of shit to say
Tears long gone, why we born to catch shots and diseases
I’ll come to the funeral but don’t tell me about Jesus
Freddy got cut into pieces, and don’t lie, the pain never releases
I buried my goddam nieces, wanna come for the nigga
I need an ounce and two packs of Rizla
“There’s a noise in my head,” last thing my father said
On the side of a road then he was dead
Saw my first body at seven, my friend
They said he went to heaven but I remember his bike twisted
Wheels still stuck in that truck hood, so yeah I don’t sleep that good
Get up and roll a wood, feed the cancer in my chest
Tumors killed half my family, AIDS gon’ take the rest
Fuck I need a rest, diabetes kill more niggas than bullets
Gotta gat, please pull it, my aunt died waiting for a liver
So I’d rather go like my cousin, I said pull the trigger
Somebody murked him, left the body in the street
We ain’t even know he was gon’ for a week
Found out auntie had a stroke, now she don’t speak
Without Summer days is bleak
Only thing I wonder is guns or butter
Aneurisms’ll give you a stutter, or maybe some young motherfucker
Is nervous during the jux, they shot Patrice ten times
Ain’t even take the pocket book, cat scans and x-rays
Heatseeking strays, so many done I run out of shit to say
Tears long gone, why we born to catch shots and diseases
I’ll come to the funeral but don’t tell me about Jesus
Freddy got cut into pieces, and don’t lie, the pain never releases
I buried my goddam nieces, wanna come for the nigga
I need an ounce and two packs of Rizla
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