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Artist: Deliciouss T
Album:  Melancholy in G'yeah! Minor *
Song:   If You Gotta Go
Typed by: Deliciouss T *

* http://soundcloud.com/deliciouss-t/sets/melancholy-in-gyeah-minor-1/

this is for those crazy motherfuckers who shoot up theaters, schools
and city blocks cuz they feeling stressed
just cuz ya life is shit, ya can't just dump a clip like a punk ass bitch
nah, take that gun and lick the front of it quick
before the lust to fuck others up is summoned
and killing is what ya gonna do gunning children
nah suck on that shit and let the trigger go click nothing left
but the subtle twitch bloodied up in a muddy ditch
guts leaking blood and shit quick
just as long as it's ya own shit and not innocent citizens, loved and missed

the bullet didnít kill em the venom that he was spillin swillin
guzzle never sippin was inching him to the crypt finish was imminent
existing within limits of binging was pitiful not living full
the dimmest image was mimicking it with
beam in his glass his cup was teaming with mad liquor
barkeep would back him up, seeing his tab go up
relieve him of massive funds, bleeding out cash and such
leaving was blasphemous, real, his ass was stuck
evil? nah, that's what's up, (he) need him to pass the suds
keeping him chatting just (to) feel like he had someone
whiskey and drafts would cut, creeping in sadness dug in
deep like a rabid mutt's teeth, bleeding madness
up and peaked in a flash what was once a seed planted just
a dull feeling nagging um, deep in the background but
it screaming demanding all his faculties ravage son
(be)fore he could manage them, deep in his glass cuz what
(he's) fiending for at the pub's (a) means of just masking em (at)
least til he's passing out in streets so he manage just
a momentís peace from blacking out, at least til it's hacked and pulled (to)
pieces feel as if he's attacked demons cracked his skull
feed on him stabbing him like daggers they grab control
last bit of scrap in him ask, "why bastards have the dough?"
can't see retreat from where he sat there's no backing up
be where he grab the funds, green yeah he had it once
rat race is chance and luck he had the baddest run
Seeing these rat fucks take beatings to grab the crumbs
scattered by haves, defeat others and scramble up
keep it all cracking just to see it all draggin on
as leaders who smack em hand out beatings and flash the crumbs
mete out the weakest flash a light amidst ragged dust
Feed the despair will help estabLISH the savage
needs to be at the pub (he's) seated in traffic stuck
Reaching he grasps for something to keep him here hands grab nothing
Reaching he grabs his gun deciding he's had enough and...