Gravediggaz - 1-800 Suicide (remix) | Текст песни

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• Gravediggaz
• 1-800 Suicide (remix)

[Verse One]
Back in the ghetto it rained for forty days
A-alike slain but I can't show no pain
My headache, enormous proportions is the size of a bucket
Painkillers can't touch it
Yo, what my little brothers gone
Now I'm torn apart as I stand with the knife at my heart
We shared the good and the bad times
When Moms broke out to the store, it was half time
Remember she came back yo and we got beatings with the Hot Wheels track
I felt the hurt from your own predicament
Lost your scholarship, can't play pro ball with torn ligaments
Career suddenly ended, your goal is offended
Suicide death tips recomended to try, black
But you and I verse, as we bless the earth
So let us pour the wine preventing suicide

[Verse Two]
Nicole's torn away from home at age 12
In search of herself she found an angel of hell
Who deceived her like Eve
And convinced her to leave
Her family
You can see she was very naive
The fallacy she was taught was brain washed thoughts
In a cult with no culture
Soon she was forced
Into showing her skin tones for thin, grins and moans
To please her saviour Jim Jones
Her pop's was an ex-marine
Him and his team
Got M-16's so they could blow up the scene
"No tambourine-beating Deacon, is freaking my seed, every weekend, as long
As I'm breathing"
They parachuted in, Started shooting men, Recruited by Jim
Grabbed Nicole and threw her in
To the trunk, She was that close to drinking the punch
And realized, False prophets lead to suicide

[Verse Three]
I was born in a bed of thorns, surrounded by men with horns
Wicked forms, but still I was happy to be born
I grew up in a house of ten, of mouse of men, rats and roaches lacking oxygen
Every night I dreamed I saw ghosts
Babies crying, favourite uncles dying, Mom's crying, Pops lying
Mom's going across his head with a frying pan
Me and my man made plans to rule the land and raise a fam
Now my man stands six feet deep in a box, covered with sand
Tears are dropping, (niggas) droppin or
Coppin out the 2-to-5s, smoking dust, do or die, suicide
About to face a bid, cos I tried to waste this kid
Ready to embrace the biscuit to my face, pull it back
Erase it kid, pull the trigger
But I figure, that I got a little RZA
Can't let him get trapped by the evil wizards
Wicked men apply genocide, homicide, for you and I to try
(you) won't figure this out till you die
It's a suicide

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