Wish I could explain my pain to you
But too many thoughts in my brain it is no use
Guess we gonna have to have blow it up
Guess we gonna have to have blow it up
I'm here mixing pills with the liquor
Wonder which'll hit quicker
I can feel my blood get thinner
Empty ass stomach I drank for dinner
Nah this shit ain't for you it's for me
Losing control as my demons linger
The bitches soul leaves at the tip of my finger
Officer Mills I'm quick on the trigger
Seven times it click like a picture
Eleven 9's know I'm quick like it's Tinder
But don't let 5 get caught in the mixture
Bitch my name Ty Dye
The fuck you think I'm gon let this high die
I keep that hotbox hot up in my ride
An no my doors ain't suicide
But that's what I still feel inside.
Why do I do this to myself
Think about things way too much
Writing music the only thing that help
Writing music the only thing that help
Now I guess we gonna have to have blow it up