Suicide Homicide - Gucci Mane, Waka Flocka Flame

You decide, tuck in yo' pride

I ain’t waitin, I ain’t got no patience

Raised by the Grove, I ain’t got an education

24/7 shorty, fuck a vacation

Wak’s a real nigga, why you goin to the station?

Damn D-Mars why these fuck niggaz hatin?

Can’t replace, why God had to fake 'em?

Free my nigga Moe, 25 he facin

Lafayette, Grove Street, that’s my nation

Hoes on point, never losin concentration

New black 'rarri got a nigga tryin race it

Fresh 'fro, gives a simple wave to the Haitians

Silver rotation got a nigga on point

Haste with the case, when the shit gon' stop?

Run up on me click click click pop

(Pop pop pop pop) Pop, many body drop

I’m the Brick Squad crop, the crowd real Waka Flock'

Man you rag, dude you go hard (what else?)

I am Brick Squad, crowd yell out SQUAD (and)

I’m livin it, hell I’m only scared of God

S-suicide paint (den) suicide rims (kill 'em)

Suicide loud, I got them suicide friends (stankin)

Suicide bitches they’ll kill for a nigga (ugh)

Call it suicide, run up on me fuck nigga (pussy)

Homicide purp (den) homicide vert' (kill 'em)

Homicide yo' ass and put yo' ass on a shirt (stankin)

Homicide ice, homicide life (ugh)

Homicide yo' kids and yo' motherfuckin wife (GUCCI!)

I’ma rich man sparkin, a rich man coughin

Dead man walkin, dead man talkin

I’m the man with the grams, get your bags, get your weight

Call me baker man, cuse I can bake a cake (it's Gucci)

Drop top 'rarri, called the headless horseman

Cooking up babies, call the shit abortions

Roamin through the 6 like a motherfukin orphan

Like Vick I killed your road dawg and put him in a coffin

When it’s on again, grab a tote again, no pad or pen, I gotta win

BSM and 1017, my whole Squad be goin in

Suicide is a homicide, I smoke so much my brain is fried

(Ferrari Boyz) and Ferrari toys, pullin up lookin like the Gotti boys

Doors go up, we just call it suicide

I ain’t playin, I’m just prayin it’s a homicide

It’s 1017 that means it’s time for BSM

Bread to win, that’s on Pop, Joe the Boss, and Bim

Test what?

Test that, test this

Your bet your real lab rat I’ll let her test dick

Running with the (Cannon), I ain’t talkin (Nick)

I put 7 on your chest like M dot Vick

Murder, nigga, murder, nigga

Real short fuse, I hurt a, nigga

Wood Da Kid, Wooh Da, King

I’m married to my strap and I don’t need a ring