Kill Yourself (Part II)

[Verse 1: James $pleen]

They figured me a dead motherfucker

Calling me James $pleen without a cause of death

I be the Reaper with the black hood on his head

Yung $now with the blood-red sled

Puppet Master, bodies hangin' 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 missin' all her bones

Got her headless skeleton hangin' 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, pluckin' 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 residents

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, uh

Isn't it so convincing how I'm breathin' down yo' neck?

Junkies in the back, loadin' 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 suckers

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

Suicide, cock it back one time, and I shoot it

Keep it lowkey, always gotta keep it moving

Bitches be worried 'bout what I am doing

'Cause they love $licky so much all because of my music

It's the MAC with the gat, that goes click-clack

Shoot a motherfuckers back

Brains go splat

No time for a rat, ho

$ui, $uicide, $uicide, $ui, $uicide