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help - fretza lyrics

[intro]
fretza: this sh-t don’t feel too good man.. f-ck
(puking)
someone call a doctor…
someone call a doctor…
someone call a doctor…
b-tch someone call a doctor…
motherf-cker someone call a doctor!

quick

[verse 1]
i don’t like to go too hard in this sh-t, unless i’m f-ckin a b-tch and then you know i get in
i took your mother out for pork fried rice, brought her back to the stalls and we called up eric wright
he gave us some aids and went back to his grave and sits there sometimes
she gave me a sob and another quick tear until i packed up my bags and i called her a queer
getting to leave f-cking smokin’ at leaves and f-cking swinging at weaves and f-cking hanging from trees
grab a mother f-cker from behind and knock out his f-cking lights, put him in my tub and he wakes up to still fight

[interlude]
man.. my head.. i think i’m done for the night

[verse 2]
no i’m not, i’m just getting started like a p-rno, so slow feeling all crusty like digiornos
motherf-ckers holding guns and pointing tips right in the middle, screaming loud saying proud “hey diddle diddle”
i don’t know what to do so i’ll call out my mind state, here grab a microphone and join in on this mind rape
i know i use bad language, man who gives a f-ck? i grabbed your f-cking mother and threw that b-tch into a tub
grabbed her f-ckin t-tty and junk, put her milk into a jug. then called up pete who then called the police and then we f-cked up with a dub
of some new lil wayne sh-t. i got some rhymes that i can’t spit. someone help me out here please? ah f-ck it, get on your knees!

[interlude]
pete: f-cking sh-t dude!
fretza: what man?
pete: i caught you p-ssed out man you ok?
fretza: uhm

[verse 3]
man i ain’t ok, cause if i was i wouldn’t be past sentimental to a grave
sh-t, where am i going? i need help with f-cking knowing, i can’t read i can’t write i can’t spell, ah sh-t someone pull me out of this h-ll
well anyway i’m feeling fine and dandy so why don’t you just leave or else i call the po-lice
pete: man you can’t stand on your own two feet
fretza: shut up before you get your sh-t beat, you lucky your parents named you pete cause i would name you a f-cking sleeze

[interlude]
pete:seriously dude wake up

[verse 4]
fine man, f-ck it whatever. i’ll f-cking get up but i ain’t feeling any better
it feels good on the wood floor with one arm lay on a door and sitting and thinking about how to f-cking heal my core
sh-t, if that ain’t right, then i’ll f-cking get up and stab it out like a stainless steel kitchen knife!
and if i stay up past bedtime, then i get sick real fine. paradox? yes but it rhymes. can someone please heal me and fill me in on my ill mind?
hand it out

(p-sses out)

- fretza lyrics

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