Vacation Suicide

I took a few shots too many
With two girls who got plenty
Ass, ass, butt, titties
Ass, ass, butt, titties, but titties
Get you caught up in some shit that you ain’t thought of
Aw, you saw it coming, huh? You’s a live pistol fire
You and me are out of control
Mixing all this alcohol with our prescription, so Anna Nichole
Smith-end to the West-end, West-end to the East-end, North-end to the South
I’ve been around the country beastin'
Don’t know where I’ll be this weekend
Don’t know who I’ll be tomorrow
Where I’ll be tomorrow
And where I left the condom, man it’s probably in the car, though
Party hard but working harder, though
That’s my mantra and my rhythm
That awesome shit I give them on the regular
Where did all the angels go?
Is it true that they all killed themselves?
A song can make you miserable
Or force you to reveal yourself
Where did they go?
Vacation suicide
These demons, these demons
I took a few hits with a few chicks
In town from Massachusetts
You have no idea how I do shit
I does it, I’m like fuck it
I’m like fuck it all in public
And I don’t care who sees us
‘Cause empathy is straight from hell
And I don’t believe in Jesus
Mary and Joseph’s immaculate conception
So they talked to Maury Povich, I think that remains in question
You are not the Father, Son, or Holy Ghost
What’s the point of Bible paper once it all blows up in smoke?
Is it chronic baby? Let’s be honest
Maybe I smoked too much, but I’m all grown up
So ain’t nothing you could say if my bills are paid
How many brain cells have I killed a day?
Maybe 11, maybe 9, maybe 2, maybe none
Maybe on, on some dumb shit tryin' to get higher
Yes, it’s emotion I can’t get, if the highs I can’t get
All the people who supply this shit
I’mma just buy this shit from them
Cut out the middle man, doesn’t make sense like science
Even for high school dropout, I rock out with my cock out
FLOCKA!
Niggas can’t touch me like Blanka