richer than you could ever be. You think you?re on the way up, but you?re coming down Yeah you?re going down? Some nights I can?t decide between murder and suicide
it's cocked to pop, pop, pop piggity pop pop And it don't stop it never did The wicked shit'll never die, I have no alibi for murder, shit I'm contemplatin' suicide
get ya high, ha! Get ya stoned and get ya wide Dat's dat shit (like or not, niggas sleepin wit the fifth) Dat's dat shit (like or not, bitches fightin
17 Saw my purple bitch its its the aroma murder diploma Perverse ICP bitch and this aint even our verse Push a hurse dream about my funeral 483 an IV or
when it's time to dump and run I never jump the gun or get cold feet, I hold heat Y'a niggaz don't know me in six hours I made up four years Got high
's cocked to pop, pop, pop piggity, pop pop And it don't stop it never did The wicked shit'll never die, I have no alibi for murder, shit I'm contemplatin' suicide
boy with a choice of vice or voice of spite Not enough poisons to pick to enjoy this life Now I thought suicide was a suburban myth I couldn't see
Intro: You better recognize what. snatchh your fuckin' head from your neck. word Up it's the cold blooded sin. strickly murder. legion of doom 94. word
to be involved but the money will getcha Gettin richer and richer, the police took my picture But I still supplied, some people I knew died Murders and homicides for bottles of suicide
high, ha! Get ya stoned and get ya wide Dat's dat shit (like or not, niggas sleepin wit the fifth) Dat's dat shit (like or not, bitches fightin
my pockets, the only thing you got sewn up is your eye sockets. so play dead as I color you blood red, give up the bread or I'll put a hole in your fuckin
F's But I got my mom right so swing your shit to the left [Verse 6: Demoz] Nigga, if I had 24 hours to live Fuck, 24 hours, gimme 24 seconds Vin I'm
time to dump and run, I never jump the gun or get cold feet, I hold heat Y'a niggaz don't know me; in six hours I made up four years Got high shit for
twice a boy with a choice of vice or voice of spite Not enough poisons to pick to enjoy this life Now I thought suicide was a suburban myth I couldn't
lord of drugs pay me for death till you got no brains cells left no fit, rippin' a prison up in your crib yo you dead kid, no brass or tassel left I'
in the stock market crashed." (In October, 1929, an over-valued stock market, with many owning shares purchased "on margin" or with borrowed money, crashed. Numerous men committed suicide
And it's cocked to pop, pop, pop piggity pop pop And it don't stop it never did The wicked shit'll never die, I have no alibi for murder, shit I'm contemplatin' suicide
