| The funeral now wants a piece of the action, fuck relaxing
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| I ant been to a funeral since Jackson
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| Known shit
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| I ant going to my own shit
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| Trying to figure out what the fuck they calling me for?
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| It’s a death detour
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| Kinda funny
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| Could it be my mom trying to kill me for insurance money?
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| (Whoa whoa whoa) Hold up let me clear that up I ant saying my mother killed me
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| for insurance money but uhh, that’s the story… anyway
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| That chick who went killed her parents and got rich
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| Set their house on fire then watched them lynch
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| Ever since its been nothing but black clouds and black cats
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| And every night I see a old man with black slacks
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| An ex preacher rapes his niece but who cares
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| For 15 years I ran down the stairs he disappears
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| But I often
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| Smell a coffin
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| Before I hop in it (deaths calling)
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| Ain’t no stopping it
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| Maybe death is coming cause they did things different
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| Like killed you in your crib right in front of your infants
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| Right next to the crib, with the blood on the bib
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| They energize like the generator throw you down the incinerator
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| I’m no imitator
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| I’m straight veil for it black and got a hole in it
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| When I fell through
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| But I must you tell you
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| Ain’t shit they can do to me that hasn’t been done under the dirt
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| I’m under the gun
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| I’m not ganna run
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| So pull your four four out your holsters (holsters)
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| Cock back one time and call ghostbusters
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| I know hustlers that been killed for spilt like Obi dressed in silk
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| I thought he was built till his brain flew
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| Should of seen the way his head tilt
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| Poor Papi
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| I wonder how he filled up in the autopsy
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| (I'm glossy) looking like a fossil up in heaven singing gospel
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| While I’m at home with these wearing rosary beads
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| Those his keys?
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| Should have been given to me
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| So I can flip’em in a dream
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| Bail straight outta Hell and move to Fort Lauder dale
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| Where death can’t tell if your dead or alive
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| I’ve seen many shot and stab and some survived
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| The funeral, Man the funeral |