| Hey, Yeah
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| Come here, Wussup
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| Let me tell you something, Humm?
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| Do me this favor, What favor?
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| I want you to take care of my kids for me
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| I’ll be right back, Why you doing this?
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| When they ask you about me
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| Just tell them he didn’t give a fuck about shit
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| That’s what I want them to know
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| Cuz that’s what they think anyways, alright
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| Will you be my voice? |
| Okay
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| Will you be my feelings?
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| Finally let them know
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| You tell me this
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| How do you tell your kids that you addicted to drugs
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| And that your love ain’t nothing to spark with to a dub
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| And even though it’s just weed it got me spending up G’s
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| Buying up keys and smoking my weed amongst thieves
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| I rather jack off then fuck bitches
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| I’ll make it crack off
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| I hit switches
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| Use to get crack off quick
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| Do the snitches
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| I use to bang up the block
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| The homie cooked up the rock
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| While I use to look up the block
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| For the po po’s
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| I know my do knows
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| And my don’t knows
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| Moved out the Deuce Fo to do rap shows
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| And lost a couple of homies (fuck)
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| Big Zo he still with me
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| He a OG
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| 29th street Crip
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| That nigga know me
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| You know E it goes deep
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| Q-Ball resting in peace
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| Spent years trying to fight the tears
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| And I got new problems resting in me
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| Still crying over joyce memories
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| Still wish Sicx and X was out wit me
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| So here’s my suicide note (come on)
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| Take care of my kids
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| Cuz I ain’t coming back for years
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| Here’s my suicide note
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| My life is a joke
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| Baby please read the letter I wrote
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| Here’s my suicide note
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| Hold back the tears I’ll be back in a couple of years
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| Here’s my suicide note
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| Cuz my life is a joke
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| So please homie read the letter I wrote |