| «Fuck, man… I hate myself, man.»
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| «My life is fucked up, man.»
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| «I just need to slit my wrist, man.»
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| «I just wish I was dead.»
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| Son of a bitch
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| Jason wants to slit his wrists
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| But I’ll tell you like this
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| Shouldn’t take the risk
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| Knowing the consequences well
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| The suicidal suckers end up in Hell
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| Some rather be dead than living instead
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| Cause the planet is fucked up and misled
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| By fools like you
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| Running 'round telling motherfuckers what they can and can’t do
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| Butterflies in my stomach
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| Make me want to vomit cause I know Doomsday is coming
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| Jason’s facin' life or death
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| It’s do or die
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| And as he takes a deep breath he wonders who will cry
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| The only one who really cares is you and I
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| But you’re the only one who really knew why
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| Life’s a bitch from beginning to end and then you die
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| Living the life of sin, and why
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| I can see it in your eyes I’m not surprised
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| As you cross your heart and hope to die
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| Living your life on the edge of panic
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| Still you’re manic
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| Cause you was born a schizophrenic
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| Never knew life was a bitch, but it is so hard
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| I’m living low in the graveyard
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| Take a trip to another side, another place
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| Lying in a casket with a dead man’s face
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| Who gives a fuck about you, nobody but you
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| But I didn’t have to tell you that
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| Cause that’s something you already knew
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| Just like a razor to the wrist I’m going to cut you quick
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| Last dying words is, «I'm a son of a bitch!»
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| Son of a gun and I’ve just begun to bleed
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| As I scream Jesus Christ I fall to my knees
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| And as everyone cries they wonder why
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| I crossed my heart and hoped to die
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| My rhyme is like a 9 to the forehead
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| And once you push play, you’ll pull the trigger and now you’re dead
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| A suicidal, homicidal, homicidal, suicidal recital
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| Is what I recite when I’m on the mic
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| At midnight I’ll smother you like crib death
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| And find my record spinning
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| You’ll never knew I was grinning when I did that
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| This is the U-N-H-O-L-Y
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| Deadly like pesticide
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| So just step aside
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| Once I knew a little girl was playin' my tape on Sunday
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| They found her in some headphones dead on Monday
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| Hanging from a chandelier
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| The only thing to fear is fear
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| When you get them butterflies you know the Unholy is near
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| Some disappear and never be found
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| Some are smothered by the rhythm and then drowned
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| And when I blow your mind your won’t know why
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| You’ll soon cross your heart and hope to die |