the craft

When I die, fuck it, I wanna go to hell 'Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fuckin' tell It don't make sense, goin' to heaven with the goodie-goodies Dressed in white, I like black Timbs and black hoodies God'll prob'ly have me on some real strict shit No sleepin' all day, no gettin' my dick licked Hangin' with the goodie-goodies, loungin' in paradise Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice (You talkin' some crazy shit now, nigga) All my life I been considered as the worst Lyin' to my mother, even stealin' out her purse Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion I know my mother wish she got a fuckin' abortion She don't even love me like she did when I was younger (Get a hold of yourself, nigga!) Suckin' on her chest just to stop my fuckin' hunger I wonder, if I died, would tears come to her eyes? Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies