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Kurt Cobain

from Suicide Notes by Suicide Notes

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(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


from Suicide Notes, released December 1, 2015


all rights reserved



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