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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Swizz Beatz
Performer
Neo Da Matrix
Programming
Loren Dawson
Keyboards
Stacey
Additional Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Kasseem Dean
Composer
Q. Atkinson
Composer
S. Green
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Neo Da Matrix
Producer
Angel 'The Truth' Aponte
Recording Engineer
Chris Theis
Mixing Engineer
Rob Kinelski
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
Lay down
Lay it down
(Tell him I got the sauce)
(It's my time) yeah
You ready?
(Stories like this) now
The funeral
Now who wants a piece of the action?
Fuck relaxing, I ain't been to a funeral since Jackson's
Known shit
I ain't going to my own shit
Tryna figure out, what the fuck they calling me for?
It's a death detour
Kinda funny (ahah)
Could it be my mom tryna kill me for insurance money? (oh)
Hold up, let me clear it up
I ain't saying my mother killed me for insurance money but, uh, that's the story
Anyway
That chick years ago, killed her parents and got rich
Set they house on fire, then watched them lynch
Ever since, it's been nothin' but black clouds and black cats
And every night I see a old man with black slacks (hello)
A ex-preacher raped his niece but who cares?
For 15 years I ran down the stairs, he disappears
But I often smell a coffin
'Fore I hop in it
Death's calling, ain't no stopping it
Maybe death is coming 'cause they did things different
Like killed you in the crib, right in front of your infants
Right next to the crib, with the blood on the bib
Then energize like a generator
Throw you down, incinerator
I'm no imitator
I'm straight veil for it
Black and got a hole in it
When I fell through
But I must tell you
Ain't shit that they can do to me that hasn't been done
Under the dirt or under the gun
I'm not gon' run
So pull your 44s out your holsters
Cock back one time and call Ghostbusters
I know hustlers that's been killed for spilt milk
Always dressed in silk
I thought he was built
Until his brain spilt
Should have seen how his head tilt
Poor papi
I wonder how he feel us in the autopsy
Probably glossy
Looking like a fossil up in heaven, singing gospel
While I'm in Hell with thieves wearing rosary beads
Those his keys?
Should have been given to me
So I can flip 'em in a dream
Bail straight outta Hell and move to Fort Lauderdale
Where niggas can't tell if you're dead or alive
I've seen many shot and stabbed and some survived
The funeral, funeral
Man, the funeral
(Crazy out, crazy, cray)
(It's crazy out there, man)
Everybody gon' have a funeral one day (straight cold)
These people out here (a lot of crazy motherfuckers out there, man)
They don't care about your families
They don't care about theyself
(I'm just bringing it up, to you)
We got freaks raping women
(Something crazy)
We got people killing they own fucking family
The funeral
Now who wants a piece of the action?
Fuck relaxing, I ain't been to a funeral since Jackson's
Known shit
I ain't going to my own shit
When I say I ain't going to my own shit I mean, uh
I ain't gonna attend my own funeral, so, uh
(Good thing I'ma be sittin' in the front row)
I don't know how y'all want me to do it, you know what I'm sayin'?
Rah, yeah
It's crazy
Yeah
Yeah
(Crazy, yeah)
(Ooh)
(Crazy, yeah, yeah)
(Crazy)
Writer(s): Kasseem Dean, Shandel Green, Qaadir H. Atkinson
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