Suicide Notes

by Suicide Notes

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    This is the debut full length album from Suicide Notes produced by LROY (Legitimate Rhythms Own You) featuring Boo G. Ratchet & Frankie Donatello
    This download also includes 2 hilarious video promos, liner notes, and pics.
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On behalf of Suicide Notes, Black Market Pluto would like to thank you for downloading this album.

Suicide Notes is a concept hip hop group with members LROY (Legitimate Rhythms Own You) & HADES (Hungry Artists Don’t Ever Stop) portraying fictional characters Boo G. Ratchet & Frankie Donatello respectively, who materialize to help characterize the final music and words of their suicidal counterparts.

The first music video from this album “Kurt Cobain” was premiered exclusively by the Austin Chronicle in September, and both singles “Kurt Cobain” & “Ernest Hemingway” have got high praises from various reputable bloggers such as OVRLD and DopeCauseWeSaid. “Kurt Cobain” was also recently nominated for Video of the Year by the Texas Artist Showcase. We anticipate and look forward to continued exposure for this album and it’s future singles thanks to you incredible music lovers.


released December 1, 2015

All songs were produced by LROY (Legitimate Rhythms Own You) and co-produced by HADES (Hungry Artists Don’t Ever Stop) except for “Kurt Cobain” produced by HADES (Hungry Artists Don’t Ever Stop)

The album was recorded, mixed & mastered by HADES (Hungry Artists Don’t Ever Stop) at Black Market Pluto Studio

Watch #KurtCobain here:


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Black Market Pluto is an independent music label and studio near Austin, TX

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Track Name: Robbin' Williams
Robbin’ Williams

(Frankie Donatello)
Everybody welcome to a postmortem verse
Curse Suicide release day with flowers on the hearse
Start the show with a close
Wet burgundy clothes
Spell FUCK YOU in blood with the first seven rows

Jam-packed action
Hungry Artist passion
Frankie Donatello rock the cello closed captions
Maniacal Laughin'
Automatics clapping
Seven months of promo
Fams asking, "What happened?"

A sleazy mother fucker and the Ratchet
Both with a case of the basket
A tisket a tasket
A spic and a nigger in their caskets
Brown and Black Bastards
Subroc the Doom of it mastered

I want feelings
Stiff by the ceiling
I don't need millions
Frankie robbin' williams
Live without a fuck
Like Messiah
Cross my heart and hope to die before the flyer

(Boo G. Ratchet)

Robbin' Williams
Jackin' Bills
People want pay with no skills
So keep quite
When you're talkin' to me
Get out my face
You bother me

Elvis just left the building
Why don’t you?
the dj been gone since ‘bout half past 2
please assemble all your kinfolk and your wack ass crew
you aint got to go home
just go do what you do

how the fuck you gon’ stay turnt up?
spendin all your time and earns up
on the scene never stackin no bucks
when I see you always crying siting just bad luck
get yourself a couple dollars and you right back up
to dumb bullshit
i stay well heard and unseen
with Hades in the laboratory mixing my beats
giving zero fucks about the nerds on your team
lyin’ bout you grindin’ with your car on lien
go raise your kids slow bum ass bitch
take two of these in the mouth as i roll out for frontin on me
use to walk but now I’m riding now you wanting from me
whats really a rat is just a small mouse attacking your cheese
you here me?
Track Name: Hunter S. Thompson
Hunter S. Thompson

(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
Commit so hard I slit my wrists
with the A Sharp string of a cello
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...

No more games
No more bombs
No more walking
Football season is over
No more fun
No more swimming
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

Track Name: Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Hemingway

Boo G. Ratchet:
Fucked up my serotonin from bonin’
missed calls on my phone and
tryna get grip on my shroom trip
cuz Im zonin’

She’s on the white tryna get right
up all night til’ its daylight
pussy sells so she’s slang it from the left west
and to the east right

god damn how you do it like that?
Rockin labels she bougie ratch
drop her off she bringin money back
she’s from the blade but this here’s the trap

Don’t get it twist I aint a pimp sometimes I trick
Im on the grind tryna get mine
and in between time I throw assists

Now she clingin on to me
say she only want Boo Gee

we go our arounds
I’m smashing her down
arched back on the couch
she clappin and throwin me
that booty


Her eyes glisten in the morning like she’s staring thru me
I see my future in her face playin like a movie

trippin on time rippin on
drunk from what we sippin on
we sober up and learn right from wrong
my lane is wide but my road ain’t long
I work out here part time
and its party time for you all the time
now we both lied
when we realize
better learn the game or get side lined

I see my future in my face and it's happening to me
It's happening to me RIGHT NOW

Frankie Donatello:
Hold up...
Baby back up. I'm in a bathtub
And it's all blood from this back rub
And I feel drugged. What the fuck?
Excuse me while I hug this bowl
By the bath rug and I upchuck
Cuz my tongues stuck like a gut slug deep in my belly

Hit my pockets quickly checking for my cellie
Crawled away from psycho bitch and safely make it out the telly

Slip the A# around my neck
Like a bow tie
And free fall from the sky like Lucifer

Stick a needle in my eye
Hope I die
Hope to god it doesn't make my momma cry but if I don't
Then it's back to the same trap that I made scraps in
Back when i had rats chewing up stacks in
Back rooms that I plot doom in
Zoom in
To Boo G. shrooming abusing the music
I see my future in my face
Ernest Hemingway
Hemochromatosis lay to waste
Fuck it anyway
I see my father in mirror
I won't last another year
It's happening to me right now

Suicide Notes debut comes out December first at
Track Name: Kurt Cobain
(Boo G. Ratchet)
Now if you had skill to rhyme
And new mics was only a dime
Would you glue raps to boom baps
While new jacks were scribbling lines?
Steady poisoning minds
Why you wasting my time?
Fuck that, man I’m wasting my own
I’m long texting with this bitch on my phone
See, I call her bitch she’s like a fucking dog on my bone
Cuz with those fat lips
She makes my staff stiff
The way she clap it make me drool like a
Full grown Mastive and yo
I shoulda passed it but I chose the paper over plastic
And now my dick feels like the tip is dipped up in some acid
You may be laughing as you should be
Cuz this shit is tragic
Ol’ Dirty Bastard told me surely that this should could happen
One shot, two pills
For the get gone
Reception on your flip phone
Man I’m outta there
Glad it wasn’t A.I.D.S. for the S.E.X.
I guess it’s minor messes teaching lessons
Life is just a blessing
Servin’ it up
Vegetable raw
Without the window dressing

(Frankie Donatello)

Deliver cheap shots to your liver
Keep watch like The Giver
Might shiv ya
Might kill a killer
Strike match to your villa
Cock flappin’ Vitruvian man
Doing jumping jacks around the mic stand
Never sober got a flight plan
Hell is over
Your whole style is more older than 64 controllers
Pages on Motorola's
I burn sage like ayatollahs
and pop sodas on paved roads laced with ebola
Never dust on my shoulder
I move boulders
Frankie Don
With the street soilders
Feel the heater seek closure
Kill the narc, the cop, and don’t stop
Go home and shoot your lady too
The new born baby too
Whats it to you? Move forward
Like side-scroll
Besides, I heard your bitch got a wide whole
Frankie D sells cell phones by the sea shore
Hungry Artist offed himself with C4

Lryics by Boo G. Ratchet & Frankie Donatello
Track Name: Sucka Free ft. Bateau
Sucka Free

(Frankie Donatello)
See Frankie D. behind bars
Trapped in a prison
'Said his heads too hard
and his ears won't listen
Cell block guards bitchin'
But Frank dismiss 'em
In his mind he's on a white sandy beach
Clean livin' with the umbrella pink
in the orange drink
Tanned feet burnt
From your whack CD
Take off in a spaceship wasted
Like shit-faced pics on Facebook
When they're taken
He ain't really ever present
Doin' time don't teach no lessons
Wicked rhymin' keep him restless
Bucket list looks like a guest list
Space out in seconds like a Rari
The flash back sparks lit the green Katamari
Cool out, poolside
The O.G. way
Ain't shaking the delusion until release day
Find it so bright
In the dark
Catch ol' Frank D. free fall from A Sharp

I'm gon' shine
Because I'm
Livin' Sucka Free

(Boo. G. Ratchet)
Roll the stone from in front of the tomb
to resurrect L-Reezus from the dead and come out as Boo
Hella mannish do dirt chase skirts and vanish
being the color man added strokes to your canvas

shaking hands and kissing babies and romancing the wicked
dibble dabble in time travel Im paying a visit
cut the slab in my Gypo cab hopping the curb
slangin merch from a hearse right in front of your church

and why the fuck not the block is hot
with game enough to be the pastor to inherit your flock
give me my props fuck rapping
get creative for my financial backing
standing on the block selling all the crackheads chapstick

see you don't have to like me or pay me attention
I'm just a first team all-star
you're honorable mention
My clinic's open on Sunday just pay me a visit
Showing how now brown cows can improve their diction
Track Name: In Your Mind
In Your Mind
(Boo G. Ratchet)

Hard times
Got you caught up in your feelings
Dealing with glass ceilings
how to fuck to make a livin

Ain't no two ways about it
You sink or you swim
Lean on your folkS
Take the final shot
Or choke

Go big or go home/ takin big risks for small bills/ trapping on your cellular phone
Tryna get it
your own
Big house, cars, and thick hoes,
Rockin precious metal and stones
Running after the goal
Dreams are like stepped on coke
Gettin sniffed up by the dummy with hope.

Know it's all about a plan

Steppin to the plate as man
you enjoy with your fam

It all ends

Wether you
lose or you win

Play the game hard
Or talk shit from the brench

Keepin the balance
Taking the challenge
Using your talents
And go in

Keepin your circle tight
Your life is like what you invest in

#SuicideNotes is a free concept album created by LROY & HADES available at
Track Name: Bad Dreams
Bad Dreams

(Boo G. Ratchet)
I'm having one of those days
like a sack that don't weigh
bitter sweet like the sugar thats missing inside your Kool-Aid
Its about 11 o'clock
kickin' it spittin the gift end of the shift smokin a spliff out in the parking lot

Its about half past the time of the night I give a fuck
fat racist pussy talking shit wants to flex nuts
I told him whats up faggot put your hands up
before we get to swinging lights are beaming from a pickup truck
He set a trap up
calling his fucking backup
I'm not a runner but I'm out numbered and wonder if this whole thing is a setup
you goddamn right
bitch ass Tony behind a glass door actin like he wanna do something holding a knife
nigga I need assistance not a witness
these crackers got me on the shit list
while they're chasing me down in a 1-5-0
tryna hang a nigga like wet clothes

What could I say?
I was having a fucked up day
They tried to murder me

(Frankie Donatello)
(rap words this time, Frankie Donatello)
This is a matter of a mad hatter
Dial 9-1-1 tell 'em someone after me
Suckas got ill when they finally heard the G
Wasn't selling out
They on the hill tryna murder me
Reached for my weapon
Heard 'em steppin' up clearly
Cuz I never let a sucka get near me
Ran into the Hilton
Movin' through the hall
Dropped the first one (Bang)
Blood spillin' down the wall
Another bug crawled up
The fire escape
Tryna bite
But he struck too late
Lookin' like a real life scene from Dexter
The way his brain matter hugged the floor like texture
I sliced like Machete
Wasn't ready for the Freddy claw
His skin was like confetti y'all
My phone ringing or my ears from gun shots
Tell my lady this is why I keep my gun cocked

Track Name: PSA
( Boo G. Ratchet)

Slow it down
While I fuck you up
And kick a verse like a nigga
was playin World Cup
How do I explain
This is NOT
A game.
I don't rap
I just CHOP my game
Man I'm hearing all these stories but the plots the same
Real niggas
Kill niggas
Bitch niggas
Pop bang

Harder than a rock of cocaine
Please frameThe freeze face
My beat makes
When my shit bangs

In my new whip
With my new chain

Big S on my chest call me super slave
Diggin hoin' through the mud that I'm Drug
Pour a four up in my cup cuz the mud is my drug

Activist like I'm Bobby seale
Realizing I'm god
they try me still
What some do just to cop a mill
Is not for real
Red or the blue
Here's some water
Gon' and pop your pill

#SuicideNotes is a free concept album created by LROY & HADES available at
Track Name: Flavor Flav Is Not Dead

(Boo G. Ratchet)
I'm bout to step out.. sharper than a piece of glass
20 up in my pocket with a full tank of gas
Tip a glass scopin ass in the VIP
Shades on Hollywood
Like you're supposed to know me
Chill homie
Step to the side
I Got somethin that is catching my eye
And right now you trying to blow my high
I'm trying to spit to miss with the dress that's tight in the front
Type a girl that can do what she want
Hello my name is ratchet
I stay Turnt up
Eating shrooms like its normal
so I'm well fucked up
You gettin hollered at by nerds
not believing their words
After 2
munchin Pizza
on the side of the curb

In real life
don't wanna Fugaze /
I keep it straight
She's grinning and Laughing I'm
Crackin jokes like Louis ck
Don't really drink But I'm drunk and I'm crunk cuz my song just got played
I'm bout to go flavor Flav

Theres a line out front
Everybody on stunt

So many fine girls
I dunno know what I want
(I'm goin' flavor flav)
I just got paid
Lit off the bud

Step in to the club
Got my jam on pump

(Frankie Donatello)
Don't worry about how many shoes I got
I got problems much too complicated
to include a female
I get sex via email
with the bedroom door locked
So mamma don't walk in
She gotta knock first

Gimme time to situation
She don't need to see that!
Graduated to my twenty-seventh chest hair
While fifth graders I ball with say
"Life's not fair"
I shot block 'em!

Nuts to the face
Yeah boyee
I got grace
Like the pride of a lion
Floating in the bathroom
Hold up!
Nope, I'm gone
Paramedics pull me out from the hair on my Palm
Valley Hospital
DOA carefully
Contractually, I still get paid
I'm 'bout to go Flavor Fav


Creeping out the bedroom
Tip Toe
Wood floors creak
Heavy steps that match how he think
In the opposite of light finds the sink
Turn the right side for cold
The lefties for the heat
Quick splash then he dashed out the window with a squeak
And bee-lined for the street
Left his card 'Frank D.'
He left g'd up and wet
was the ski'd up passed out on the couch
with both feet up
Made it to the studio late
"Hungry Artist why you gotta be this way?"
"I said to be here at 8
You need to tell my story on the MIC and be great
This my Suicide Note not some porno you made
You need to get your shit straight and stop chasing the lay
I gotta leave today and say something before the grave
You in my motha fuckin' head Frankie
Ain't no two ways about us going dead frankly, damn"

Track Name: All Week Long
All Week Long

(Frankie Donatello)
It's like I'm walking on a buildings edge
Lookin' for The Slip
or after a decade of sobriety
Society made me trip
and I'll be gimp, rib-cracked, laughing
and bloody in the tooth
And still you spineless cowards
won't match the acid from my booth
Screw-loose youths
Find the power in my truths
While veteran emcees climb my back to get a boost
So when you see me
Best to hide away
'Cuz I'll be parked out front in the driveway
And when I come into your House
No time
So let me see those hands do what I say
From the tweaker to the mic
into the speaker in the night
I know the truth is out there
When they beam me in the light
So I ride the Thin Red Line
Sketched deep into my palm
Chasing pills and smokescreens
Searching for a calm
I wish my waning consciousness and self would get along
But they don't
And it's been fucking with me All Week Long

I'll be here when the voices stop
I'll be sitting here all week long
When you come back from where you've gone
I'll be sitting here all week long

(Boo. G. Ratchet)
from Humble beginnings
struck out in the 9th inning
Im gone keep losing until I’m winning
fighting my own progression
confessions of confused living
scoping my future vision
while looking thru an old prescription
you suck at life
and thats all right
nothing is your fault
is what you’re telling me right?
dreaming of great heights
but never booking a flight
stuck on the ground
fuck it! We dying tonight

its loud as fuck in my head
I’d rather be dead
feenin to jump
but shuffle when my feet hit the ledge
I’m getting taxed like my last paycheck
lifting rocks and shit
tryna find my self respect

will time expire before my redemption?
or do I put my faith into another dimension
shit nobody Knows
what they’re talking about
ill put a gun in my mouth before I figure it out