Suicideboys that just isnt empirically possible lyrics

$uicideBoy$ – That Just Isn’t Empirically Possible Lyrics

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 s— no more
I’m ready to f—— explode
Open up, knock-knock, here comes the Glock cocked
Nine 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 (F—)
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 b——
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 c— it there’s going to be tears here
Manic depressive, when life is in session, I hide in a room that’s dark as me
Dollar sign, B, and it’s still F-T-P, f—— G-R-E-Y ’til I R-I-P

Artist: $uicideBoy$
Song: That Just Isn’t Empirically Possible
Album: Stop Staring at the Shadows
Year: 2020

Lyrics:

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 mili 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
Elevated to another dimension so I got a limp in my strut
I do not care to be here or be there
In the mean time, it seems that I’m stuck
Swerving and crashing
That dying little bastard
Yung Christ, you address me as such
Crazy little demon
They wave when they see me
Face tatted from ear to ear
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 till I R-I-P

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