"Hold Ya Head" lyrics
(feat. Bob Marley)
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
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 Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no getting my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
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 wished she got a fuckin' abortion
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fuckin' Buddha head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't
I can't believe suicide's on my fuckin' mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin' callin' me
Naw you wouldn't understand
You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
She knew me and her sister had somethin' goin' on
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
I reach my peak, I can't speak
Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak
I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin'
Matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
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 Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no getting my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
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 wished she got a fuckin' abortion
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fuckin' Buddha head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't
I can't believe suicide's on my fuckin' mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin' callin' me
Naw you wouldn't understand
You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
She knew me and her sister had somethin' goin' on
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died
I reach my peak, I can't speak
Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak
I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin'
Matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'
Writer(s): Christopher Wallace, Robert A. Hall, Rita Anderson Marley
