| They dated three years before they got married
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| Lived next door to my homeboy Merry
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| Right in South Shore where the bodies get buried
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| Her family Jamaican, she nice with the curry
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| Like Steph, she step back and splash spices
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| Kit Kats and cakes was her vices
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| Vanilla icing with the strawberry
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| She was lactose so she rarely ate dairy
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| Her husband named Terry, knew where to get the good cake
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| Vegan, black-owned for the hood’s sake
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| Today was one of them days, she couldn’t wait
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| And she got off work a lil' late
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| Shortcake, after a long day, the smell of perfume in the hallway
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| Terry open the door like, «What up, bae?»
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| Nigga actin' like it’s just another day
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| She dropped her bags, quickly kissed him
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| She was on a mission, went straight to the kitchen
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| Looked at the cake and noticed it was different
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| Thinkin' to herself, «Why this nigga get this one?»
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| Opened the box there was two pieces missin'
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| Is it just suspicion or a woman’s intuition?
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| Terry moved positions to give her a hug
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| Right then, she noticed lipstick on the mug
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| Damn, this muhfuh-
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| Supposed to be the nigga that loved ya
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| If he did this, that’s fucked up
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| You know we gon' lie like Russia
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| Now I gotta spy, asked a few things and he did reply
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| Tryna see truth lookin' deep in his eye
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| I’ma need proof or he gon' deny
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| Pissed thinkin' 'bout a bitch feedin' this guy
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| It’s crazy, I was thinkin' you were my baby
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| Wasn’t looking both ways, you played me
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| Now you running away from blamin', so crazy
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| You gon' make me wanna go and get real again
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| You gon' make me have to go and get real again
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| You were driving me crazy and now I’m feelin' it
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| So don’t speak I don’t wanna hear your synonyms
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| She like, «Damn, damn» like Kendrick from Compton
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| Wonderin' if her man on some Tristan Thompson
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| Is it reality or in her conscious?
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| That’s wild if they did it in they apartment
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| The nerve of this nigga
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| She gon' have to swerve on this nigga
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| Put the clothes on the curb of this nigga
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| He even changed the shirt, 'cause this nigga
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| Must be into something
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| Whole house clean, could tell he was frontin'
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| She went to the back, the trash, he had dumped 'em
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| The bedroom, the bathroom, trash, he had dumped 'em
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| Usually 'round the crib he don’t ever do nothin'
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| Huntin' and sniffin' around for what’s relevant
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| Might get to sniffin' his nuts like a elephant
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| Some niggas is anti-intelligent
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| That bullshit, he kept on selling it
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| Like a traphouse
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| His story was the neighbor got locked out and had to come over
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| Birth of a salesman, he almost sold her
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| 'Til she saw strands of blue hair on the shoulder
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| Sittin', cussin' on the couch at her spot
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| Saw «Love & Hip Hop» was recently watched
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| Something that he wouldn’t watch
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| She thinkin', «Terry, you shoulda kept ya dick in a box»
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| Damn, this muhfuh-
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| Supposed to be the nigga that loved ya
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| If he did this, that’s fucked up
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| You know we gon' lie like Russia
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| Now I gotta spy, asked a few things and he did reply
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| Tryna see truth lookin' deep in his eye
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| I’ma need proof or he gon' deny
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| Pissed thinkin' 'bout a bitch feedin' this guy
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| It’s crazy, I was thinkin' you were my baby
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| Wasn’t looking both ways, you played me
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| Now you running away from blamin', so crazy
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| You gon' make me wanna go and get real again
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| You gon' make me have to go and get real again
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| You were driving me crazy and now I’m feelin' it
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| So don’t speak I don’t wanna hear your synonyms
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| When she stressed out, she start eatin'
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| Went to the kitchen for that cake she was tweakin'
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| He gave reasons, now she believin'
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| He care too much to be out here cheatin'
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| Like she freezin', his arms wrapped around her
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| From wild wild, to a calm that’s around her
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| Terry thinkin' he gon' put her on that counter
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| She like quiet, he gon' make her get louder
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| She found a knife for the cake to start cuttin'
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| Terry said «Stop», all of a sudden
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| «Baby, I must’ve been on one
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| This got dairy in it, I got the wrong one»
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| The phone rung, it was the bakery he got the cake from
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| To make her feel good, he put it on speaker
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| So she wouldn’t be insecure like Issa
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| The clerk said, «Mr. |
| Terry, yo, you left your VISA
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| And it was really real good to meet your wife
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| Her blue hair was fresh, her perfume was nice»
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| Things got ice, ice
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| He about to feel that spice, spice
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| She remember goin' up flights smellin' perfume
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| And seein' blue hair in the bathroom
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| As Terry mumbled, tellin' his story
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| She pushed him out the window of the fifth story |