Fuck your automatics I'm armed with a pen.
Booze? Never again.
I'm stayin' sober for my fam and friends.
But the temptations always there.
Got me feelin' like a German in October.
I guess that's what my therapist is for.
"So TK, tell about your day?"
Well, I keep poppin' those melatonin
(like skittles)
and blarin' hip hop music.
Drowning my problems in pills
and lyrics.
This addiction?
I fear it.
This addiction to things that'll eventually
hurt me.
Leave me buried 10 feet, all alone, cept for a bottle and prescriptions, I'll still be happy.
I just don't want to be depressed anymore.
And if I got to shut the door to sobriety, so be it.
I'm sorry my friends, I'm gonna turn off the lights and drink myself to death.
And trust me, I wasn't the one who left.
The only way I can sleep is at BHS,
with my head on the desk.
Or at the park with my Chuck T's
on my feet
hanging off the bridge.
If it was taller, I'd jump.
Escape real easy from this dump.
My dream is, to make music that bumps.
And make more money than Donald Trump.
Right now, I'm gonna bum cigarettes
and get what needs to be get.
I love that nicotine. Haven't smoked since age 9 but why not start again?
I love the smell of it burning, and the feeling of it in my lungs.
At my heart, I'm just a punk. I'll fight anyone that's uppitty.
I'm vicious and merciless, run your ass over with a truck, so call me Smokey.
Relaxed like Dopey, but fuck with me and I'ma get Psycho.
Squad up, come back with a crew to do battle.
Knives,
boxing,
drive bys,
and walk ups, I dabble.
Learned that shit from rollin' hard down 12th Street,
twelve deep in homies.
This song is dedicated to all the RIPs,
Big Bony, Small Stacc, Lil' Greek, Young Nero.
I'm sorry your time came down to zero.
I'll keep you in my heart. You betchu I will.
Y'all were illest, y'all were the best.
I'll fucking miss you guys, so I'll drink in memory.
Until they take me to the morgue and pretty up my body.
Put me on display.
Fuck that, burn me baby.
Send letters to my exes
To #1, I'm sorry I counldn't give you good sex, but you were a fucked up bitch.
To #2, hope you have fun with your child. And tell my ex BFF he's lucky he isn't dead. You and him were both fuckin' vile.
And when you were pregnant, your lucky I didn't bust your skull on the white tile.
To #3, I'm sorry for cheating on you with that cheap and slutty pussy. For neglecting you and your feelings. I was 100% immaturity, thinking I was hot shit for slanging methamphetamine.
To #4, guess shit happens. I guess your past was your trappins, and I hope your next boyfriend can help you better than I did.
The real pathetic part is that if you wanted, I'd take you back in a second.
Cigs,
booze,
and prescriptions.
That's my diet in repetition.
Vodka, whiskey, schnapps I be sippin'.
Helpin' me swallow all 40 of these motherfuckin' melotonin.
Puffin' on a cigarette with my dick in my other hand.
Fuck the system! I'm goin' Alamo! This my final fuckin' stand!
