Artist:  Twista
Song:  Suicide
Album:  Chi Bangin Vol. 1

Lyrics from:  LatinDragon_4@email.msn.com

Verse 1: 
 
Uh!  The Rochester champion that cant be done, you walkin
bald, while you watch me call pliers that show gun, cuts a 
duck, fuck naughty im in that hate ya nature, ready to
break ya state ya, claimin i raped ya, vapa, to get to de-
greez, deepa than (?defidis?) and get ya pistol mista
split ya wrist thinkin i bet ya Twist, now picture this, me write
in somethin from you and you cant top me, betta yet stop me 
or drop me your technique is sloppy check my flow autopsy
copy you neva be cleverly my shit blows up,
leavin 'em froze up, straight from the toes up, fifty shows up in my
city we run shit like the (?presidue?), turn you to residue,
snatch up your revenue, rip this and that like residue(?),
venter view, your dead bodies i fill, we cut your head short,
dissin Chi? why dare sport? we fly more heads than airports,
thinkin you hard but when i pull your card i betch ya stretch,
go fetch a trench, i make 'em disappear like "Etch-A-Sketch", wretch-ed
nigga, (?beat ya?) out ya mouth or get neck split,
quickly i used to wreck shit but now punk im on some next shit,
check it, the crew you tried is makin sure you blew a side,
face the beat-down, bitch nigga, fuckin wit Chi, suicide
 
Chorus:
 
Suicide when you fuckin wit the Chi, boo-yah!
    i wonda, i wonda why muthafuckaz wanna die.
(x4)
 
Verse 2:
 
I come deep as gopher tactics, pop 'em like (?pro full lactics?) wit flow-matics,
no statics, takin, breakin punks up, i'm a pro at it, go at
it wit whoeva, crew neva cracks, pack gats, fuckin'
chains n' locks, chain-saws, hatchets, butta-cuttaz n' bats,
brains n' blades uh' machetes, petty shit you carry, cant
scare me, fairy, burn your obituary at the cemetary,
two to a casket, heads in red baskets, dead when lead blasts,
ta burn 'em like ashes, fuck a ghetto bastard, huh,
come wit that hay, hoe, betta stay low, end up wit a halo,
spread blood like mayo, looks like a "T" K.O., say
no to treachery, betcha be thinkin' ya gink n',
i do the shankin, naughty kids always get a spankin, so uh...
go dis' some mo emcees instead ah these, punk ya betta
ease, or get your head filled up wit holes like chedda cheese, neva
let her breathe, blow me down kid, this aint the season,
took Twist back to Chicago, bitch who told you i was leavin
 
Chorus
 
Verse 3:
 
Select-a, (?my DJ cutsa?), B-hype says "whats up", lets beat the
nuts up, eat the ducks up, n' sweet they guts up, the things i
bring'll make you spring forward n' later fall back, talkin 'bout
"Twistin" dont impress you like yo shit is all that, go get yo
techs, i got grenades that pack pins, be quick to stack men,
black men wit mack tenz, ready to let they fingers (??), and
if i catch you dreamin of dissin n' schemin, you'll find
intoxicated demons suckin semen, hear what i'm screamin?
huh, anotha pussy wants to break me in, a homo-sapien
beat 'em down wont give a fuck what type uh' shape he in,
yellow's the color of the cape he in, punk ya style i be
facin fatality split his head like a personality
while i be crackin heads like jokes, leave 'em tight stitch, for this im a
high pitch, fuck you n' that white bitch, i'm hopin ya mic switch,
remember that show on the west thought i was a wimp, man please, the pimp
slams G's, swing on emcees like chimpanzees, get ya
nose bust, bones broke, they crack rip split wit dis shit,
talkin shit 'bout the Chi behind my back, now you get dis, bitch,
whas up nigga, c'mon step, unless you jus a sucka,
fuckin wit Chi, suicide mission muthafucka.
 
Chorus