Tried To Shoot Lyrics
| Song | Tried To Shoot |
| Artist | Brotha Lynch Hung |
| Album | Lynch By Inch, Suicide Note |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Crookwood | |
| I be havin' bad dreams about doin' bad things | |
| No money, my momma is gone, it's a sad thing | |
| And the devil is laughin, if there was such a thing | |
| You couldn't weigh my problems out with a human triple beam | |
| I'm all ****ed up, you might find me in the dump truck | |
| Gin in my cup, hundred and fifty on the rough | |
| I'm a tough act to follow, leave your chest hollow | |
| See it ain't that tough, heat that ass up with the ralo | |
| And hit the road, explode niggas with old vendettas | |
| I talk alot of shit so my click pack berettas to rip back your leather | |
| The world is cold, you could find me inside the bottle at 15 years old | |
| I was tired of all the arguin', fussin', and fightin' | |
| Ten years later | |
| I'm borrowin, adjusting the mic and | |
| Try'na make it through these hard times, tellin' my problems | |
| But who cares, everybody | |
| I know got 'em | |
| I'm upstairs, starin' out the window drinkin | |
| O.E I know this bottle really love me, | |
| I love you too | |
| You be helpin' me through my problems, killin' my fears | |
| And you understand when | |
| I break down you bring out the tears | |
| And you give me heart, but | |
| I just can't take it | |
| Shit's hella ****ed up, bad luck, just can't shake it | |
| Half way to the grave, half way from birth | |
| Try'na wonder what my life is worth | |
| I think I'm cursed [Chorus] x2 | |
| I put the gun to my head, tried to shoot | |
| I think I'm better off dead, where's my kids? | |
| Make sure they ain't around, tell 'em | |
| I love um | |
| Tell 'em bend down on the ground, plug ya ears | |
| What you hear ain't nothin' but a cartoon | |
| A bad dream, your daddy, he comin' back soon | |
| In another form, re-born, with some great expectations | |
| I'ma miss you too, believe it | |
| Got dealt some bad punches, but | |
| I'ma roll with it | |
| Got served some bad lunches, so who can | |
| I trust? Got love and | |
| I don't want it, who's teachin' me hate? | |
| Got hate when | |
| I don't need it, | |
| I believe in my faith | |
| Diagnosed manic depressive, only learned one lesson | |
| And that's **** it, forget it, and let it die like the rest of 'em | |
| Battled with the best of 'em, they can't touch me | |
| Then shadowed out the rest of 'em, you can't **** me | |
| Might as well go 'head and let me murder myself | |
| Niggas got hate for me anyway, take it, it's hell | |
| And if I see you at the funeral, | |
| I'ma reach out for you | |
| That one up in the corner, give his ass to the coroner | |
| He just another foreigner, all in my mix | |
| Don't have the slightest idea how | |
| I'm feelin 'bout shit | |
| Cuz I maintain my composure, never tellin' the plan | |
| My brain stained in dosia, | |
| I'm tellin' you man [Chorus] x1 |
| zuo ci : Crookwood | |
| I be havin' bad dreams about doin' bad things | |
| No money, my momma is gone, it' s a sad thing | |
| And the devil is laughin, if there was such a thing | |
| You couldn' t weigh my problems out with a human triple beam | |
| I' m all ed up, you might find me in the dump truck | |
| Gin in my cup, hundred and fifty on the rough | |
| I' m a tough act to follow, leave your chest hollow | |
| See it ain' t that tough, heat that ass up with the ralo | |
| And hit the road, explode niggas with old vendettas | |
| I talk alot of shit so my click pack berettas to rip back your leather | |
| The world is cold, you could find me inside the bottle at 15 years old | |
| I was tired of all the arguin', fussin', and fightin' | |
| Ten years later | |
| I' m borrowin, adjusting the mic and | |
| Try' na make it through these hard times, tellin' my problems | |
| But who cares, everybody | |
| I know got ' em | |
| I' m upstairs, starin' out the window drinkin | |
| O. E I know this bottle really love me, | |
| I love you too | |
| You be helpin' me through my problems, killin' my fears | |
| And you understand when | |
| I break down you bring out the tears | |
| And you give me heart, but | |
| I just can' t take it | |
| Shit' s hella ed up, bad luck, just can' t shake it | |
| Half way to the grave, half way from birth | |
| Try' na wonder what my life is worth | |
| I think I' m cursed Chorus x2 | |
| I put the gun to my head, tried to shoot | |
| I think I' m better off dead, where' s my kids? | |
| Make sure they ain' t around, tell ' em | |
| I love um | |
| Tell ' em bend down on the ground, plug ya ears | |
| What you hear ain' t nothin' but a cartoon | |
| A bad dream, your daddy, he comin' back soon | |
| In another form, reborn, with some great expectations | |
| I' ma miss you too, believe it | |
| Got dealt some bad punches, but | |
| I' ma roll with it | |
| Got served some bad lunches, so who can | |
| I trust? Got love and | |
| I don' t want it, who' s teachin' me hate? | |
| Got hate when | |
| I don' t need it, | |
| I believe in my faith | |
| Diagnosed manic depressive, only learned one lesson | |
| And that' s it, forget it, and let it die like the rest of ' em | |
| Battled with the best of ' em, they can' t touch me | |
| Then shadowed out the rest of ' em, you can' t me | |
| Might as well go ' head and let me murder myself | |
| Niggas got hate for me anyway, take it, it' s hell | |
| And if I see you at the funeral, | |
| I' ma reach out for you | |
| That one up in the corner, give his ass to the coroner | |
| He just another foreigner, all in my mix | |
| Don' t have the slightest idea how | |
| I' m feelin ' bout shit | |
| Cuz I maintain my composure, never tellin' the plan | |
| My brain stained in dosia, | |
| I' m tellin' you man Chorus x1 |
| zuò cí : Crookwood | |
| I be havin' bad dreams about doin' bad things | |
| No money, my momma is gone, it' s a sad thing | |
| And the devil is laughin, if there was such a thing | |
| You couldn' t weigh my problems out with a human triple beam | |
| I' m all ed up, you might find me in the dump truck | |
| Gin in my cup, hundred and fifty on the rough | |
| I' m a tough act to follow, leave your chest hollow | |
| See it ain' t that tough, heat that ass up with the ralo | |
| And hit the road, explode niggas with old vendettas | |
| I talk alot of shit so my click pack berettas to rip back your leather | |
| The world is cold, you could find me inside the bottle at 15 years old | |
| I was tired of all the arguin', fussin', and fightin' | |
| Ten years later | |
| I' m borrowin, adjusting the mic and | |
| Try' na make it through these hard times, tellin' my problems | |
| But who cares, everybody | |
| I know got ' em | |
| I' m upstairs, starin' out the window drinkin | |
| O. E I know this bottle really love me, | |
| I love you too | |
| You be helpin' me through my problems, killin' my fears | |
| And you understand when | |
| I break down you bring out the tears | |
| And you give me heart, but | |
| I just can' t take it | |
| Shit' s hella ed up, bad luck, just can' t shake it | |
| Half way to the grave, half way from birth | |
| Try' na wonder what my life is worth | |
| I think I' m cursed Chorus x2 | |
| I put the gun to my head, tried to shoot | |
| I think I' m better off dead, where' s my kids? | |
| Make sure they ain' t around, tell ' em | |
| I love um | |
| Tell ' em bend down on the ground, plug ya ears | |
| What you hear ain' t nothin' but a cartoon | |
| A bad dream, your daddy, he comin' back soon | |
| In another form, reborn, with some great expectations | |
| I' ma miss you too, believe it | |
| Got dealt some bad punches, but | |
| I' ma roll with it | |
| Got served some bad lunches, so who can | |
| I trust? Got love and | |
| I don' t want it, who' s teachin' me hate? | |
| Got hate when | |
| I don' t need it, | |
| I believe in my faith | |
| Diagnosed manic depressive, only learned one lesson | |
| And that' s it, forget it, and let it die like the rest of ' em | |
| Battled with the best of ' em, they can' t touch me | |
| Then shadowed out the rest of ' em, you can' t me | |
| Might as well go ' head and let me murder myself | |
| Niggas got hate for me anyway, take it, it' s hell | |
| And if I see you at the funeral, | |
| I' ma reach out for you | |
| That one up in the corner, give his ass to the coroner | |
| He just another foreigner, all in my mix | |
| Don' t have the slightest idea how | |
| I' m feelin ' bout shit | |
| Cuz I maintain my composure, never tellin' the plan | |
| My brain stained in dosia, | |
| I' m tellin' you man Chorus x1 |
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