All day long, even when sleeping in bed,
I get these thoughts in my head
Feel like I'd be betta off dead.
Then i think of killing you instead.
You'd rather pull the trigga on ya nine,
than pull the trigger on my mind.
One million and 1 ways to die,
i thought of more, a thousand and five.
I can get sick, twisted and demented
When all the shit gets fermented.
Don't even need a motive,
betta lite the votives,
start the slow singing
and flower bringing
when the bells in my head start ringing.
Then, with a quick flash,
sounds of a blast,
You're a thought of the past.