That Just Isn't Empirically Possible

It's lonely at the top All of my enemies have been defeated The crown has been sitting on my head for too long It's starting to give me these legions Don't follow the crowd The crowd is misleading Stay solo Surrounded by all of my demons Licking my wounds as they deepen Constantly feeding them all of my secrets 007, I got the golden gun I got the golden I'm busting Open up the door I'm at my breaking point I cannot take this shit no more I'm ready to fucking explode Open up Knock knock Here comes the Glock cocked 9 milli, pop pop pop Oh no Making a mess My aim ain't the best I guess I should clean this all up and go home Percocet, Roxycodone, with some Xanax that I had crushed up in some dust (huh) Elevated to another dimension so I got a limp in my strut (fuck) I do not care to be here or be there In the mean time, it seems that I'm stuck (huh) Swerving and crashing That dying little bastard Yung Christ, you address me as such (what) Crazy little demon They wave when they see me Face tatted from ear to ear, yeah Northside boy with a Glock sized toy If I cock it there's going to be tears here Manic depressive When life is in session, I hide in a room that's as dark as me Dollar sign, B And it's still F-T-P Fucking G-R-E-Y 'til I R-I-P --- That Just Isn't Empirically Possible - $uicideBoy$