| Chance Le Rappeur?
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| Roses are red
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| Moses rose from the dead
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| To show his chosen souls across an ocean of red
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| Travel through Goliath and the burning roses to get
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| His Queen Esther from the lions, then return to the bed
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| See it’s Biblical, it’s science
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| It was written in the stars
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| It’s pivotal we meet again, it’s been a little hard
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| See we met a million times, Little Mama, you just forget a lot
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| I was your king, you used to march for me: Coretta Scott
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| Simpsons and cake, shrimp then the steak
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| Candle-lit forever, you good?
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| That poetry, you know it’s me
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| Your boy, the kid, the lover
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| Rapping til we breaded up, or wedded up
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| Forever love, Chance
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| Okay
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| She spotted me and moved in like a U-Haul
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| I swear this bitch need to curve, change it up, maybe screwball
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| Only good for the neck, lei at Luau
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| Brain only second to Mrs. Duvalle, but she stalk like fee-fi-fo-fum
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| And go dumb, like a Bay Area poem
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| Whenever she peep at the kid strollin', strings attached no violin
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| She say, «I think about you every time my eyes open
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| And when they closed, I still see your face bright as day»
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| Well baby girl, all of that, it really is nice as May
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| But I’m not really about that life
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| Pardon me
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| My mistake
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| We seem to have conflicted interest
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| Cause I gotta keep that kitty on the side
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| No big whiz, or rap floor-mat
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| I’m sure this is probably stinging like a hornet
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| But performing is my only woman, until I start touring
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| But, you don’t want to hear about that. |
| Just fall back
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| And do me a favor, stop showing up where my house at. |
| Bitch!
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| No for real. |
| Like stop showing up |