No writing

[arthur_ism]

I have not written lately either, so I will help people catch up with my life...  even though I am well aware that no one cares.

Friday:  Work
Worked and ran some errands...  alone

Saturday:  Went to NJ
Headed to NJ to the conference, ate liver...  was depressed

Sunday:  Soccer and house cleaning
Played soccer and tied 2-2 even though I played on a

Comments

Happines is a warm gun!

[orangejacket]

Arthur, I got some lyrics to a song that I think will make you feel better.

When I die, f**k it I wanna go to hell
Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to f**kin' tell
It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit 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 gettin my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
F**k 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 f**kin' abortion
She don't even love me like she did when I was younger
Suckin' on her chest just to stop my f**kin' hunger
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My babies' mothers 8 months, her little sister's 2
Who's to blame for both of them (naw nigga, not you)
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 f**kin' buddah head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't,
I can't believe suicide's on my f**kin' mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is f**kin'
callin' me
Naw you wouldn't understand (nigga, talk to me please)
You see its 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 sista had somethin' goin' on
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'.
[BANG]