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 didn’t 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 moment’s 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...