Warning Signs (Suicidal Thoughts 2) Lyrics

Who the hell is this

Calling me at 3 in the morning

My bitch tripping saying that these hoes on me

Nah, It's my nigga BI from bedstuy

Talkin bout when he die

He going to hell he must be high

Bruhh

Just because we in the streets don't mean the afterlife ain't paved wit gold

The only white that's pure is the snow

Oh, just know these bred 11s coming wit me

And my ideas of heaven come complete wit matching titties

Lounging in paradise

Hot hand on the dice

Far removed from how we viewed throughout our life

Yeah, that paper u took from ya moms was foul

But you flipped it on the block to put groceries in y'all mouths

Just keep the plays tapered like a fader, and nigga

Don't keep work the on the plate looking like mashed potatoes

Trust me ya moms love you like a mutha fucka

Curry chicken and rice and peas for the whole team

Like we younger brothers

Ya baby muva yeah that's you

Her younger sister wit the tramp tattoo

I splashed bareback too

You talking crazy

Uncock the mag and blow of bag of the chronic

We warriors nigga we die with honor

Now I'm throwing on my foreign

Hop in the foreign, 95 northern

To Saint James place nigga you drawing

If you die I bet the whole stuy throw a party

Jumpin on cars wash away tears wit Bacardi

They gon miss you

Even the ones who didn't fuck wit you

When they reflect on it there won't no real issues

I'm at the exit begging you to wake ya girl up

Step out on the stoop I got one pearled up

My nigga you scaring me

Remember all those trips in the Cherokee

We took to Virginia let off the clips up in Maryland

Know you sick of the lying

And the enviest niggas

Just don't pull that mutha fucking