The stress is building up, I can't
I can't believe suicide's on my fucking mind, I wanna leave
I swear to God I feel like death is fucking calling me
Naw you wouldn't understand
Nigga, talk to me please
You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Ramo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral fronting like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
She knew me and her sister had somethin' goin' on
I reach my peak, I can't speak
Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak
I'm sick of niggas lying, I'm sick of bitches hawkin'
Matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'