Pete. - Help lyrics

[Intro] Fretza: This sh** don't feel too good man.. f** (puking) Someone call a doctor... Someone call a doctor... Someone call a doctor... b*tch Someone call a doctor... MOTHERfu*kER SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR! QUICK [Verse 1] I don't like to go too hard in this sh**, Unless I'm f**in a b**h and then you know I get in I took your mother out for pork fried rice, brought her back to the stalls and we called up Eric Wright He gave us some AIDs and went back to his grave and sits there sometimes She gave me a sob and another quick tear until I packed up my bags and I called her a queer Getting to leave f**ing smokin' at leaves and f**ing swinging at weaves and f**ing hanging from trees Grab a mother f**er from behind and knock out his f**ing lights, put him in my tub and he wakes up to still fight [Interlude] Man.. my head.. I think I'm done for the night [Verse 2] No I'm not, I'm just getting started like a p**no, so slow feeling all crusty like Digiornos Motherf**ers holding guns and pointing tips right in the middle, screaming loud saying proud "hey diddle diddle" I don't know what to do so I'll call out my mind state, here grab a microphone and join in on this mind rape I know I use bad language, man who gives a f**? I grabbed your f**ing mother and threw that b**h into a tub Grabbed her f**in titty and junk, put her milk into a jug. Then called up pete who then called the police and then we f**ed up with a dub Of some new Lil Wayne sh**. I got some rhymes that I can't spit. Someone help me out here please? Ah f** it, get on your knees! [Interlude] Pete: f**ing sh** dude! Fretza: What man? Pete: I caught you pa**ed out man you ok? Fretza: Uhm [Verse 3] Man I ain't OK, cause If I was I wouldn't be past sentimental to a grave sh**, where am I going? I need help with f**ing knowing, I can't read I can't write I can't spell, AH sh*t SOMEONE PULL ME OUT OF THIS HELL Well anyway I'm feeling fine and dandy so why don't you just leave or else I call the po-lice Pete: Man you can't stand on your own two feet Fretza: Shut up before you get your sh** beat, you lucky your parents named you pete cause I would name you a f**ing sleeze [Interlude] Pete:SERIOUSLY DUDE WAKE UP [Verse 4] Fine man, f** it whatever. I'll f**ing get up but I ain't feeling any better It feels good on the wood floor with one arm lay on a door and sitting and thinking about how to f**ing heal my core sh**, if that ain't right, then I'll f**ing get up and stab it out like a stainless steel kitchen knife! And If I stay up past bedtime, then I get sick real fine. Paradox? Yes but it rhymes. Can someone please heal me and fill me in on my ill mind? Hand it out (pa**es out)