(Frankie Donatello)
Hunter S. sweater vests
Youngin's on new conquests
To black out flat out
With no gonzo concepts
Pour myself in the act
Donatello
Commit so hard I slit my wrists
with the A Sharp string of a cello
Frankie
Hungry Artists reach out on email to thank me
Got a couple females to yank me
I spray off Banksy
'tell by my arm that I'm antsy
Yo, BIG picture
Ready To Die
Pour the liquor
Twenty-six pills so the still slips quicker
Deliver nine mil to brain and to liver
No more games I'm a bomb with the trigger
And you could never figure out the source of my mental
While chasing back the bullet path I forced through the temple
To cover up the red stained sleeve of the rental
And bleed on the pad with a pencil
You know theres...
(Chorus)
No more games
No more bombs
No more walking
Football season is over
No more fun
No more swimming
67
Hunter S. Thompson
(Boo G. Ratchet)
I lack patience for family vacations
time is wasting
Everyday I become complacent
I got shit people deem imperial
Im OG, New School, You’re made from a bitch material
flashback to the 80s naked ladies
doing coke off the dash of my grey mercedes
seeds got sewn and trees got chopped
And my
game got sold I made my knot
but fuck it!
you’re all boring me to sleep
you could die and come back like six times and won’t be doper than me
what you get is what you see
and what i see right now is clown bitches that have no ID
don’t give a fuck what you wrote or you spoke ‘bout me
control freak the last letter to forever will be written by me
so drink your Kool-aid and lace your Nikes up
if you’re loved then you might get a write up