| Girl, I ain’t no star—I just ain’t from round here
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| My pilot told me I’ll go far if I stay from 'round here
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| Hell, I’m so good at missing calls, bitch, I’m perfect this year
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| And I suggest you trace your scars if you get lost, my dear
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| Nigga, I can’t tell if I’m dreaming
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| Lord, forgive me if I think I’m in charge
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| But the snakes in the grass are starting to get smart
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| And the snake in my pants is starting to get hard
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| And I’m fucking everything with two legs and a heart
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| And some ass, and some titties, and an ATM card
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| Fetish for my flaws, and I lust for my scars
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| And this broke nigga dick guarantee I won’t starve
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| Well I suppose, that you suppose, using hoes, is getting old
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| And you oppose, that maybe I, should grown on up, and iron clothes
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| And find some hope, find some work, and write in cursive
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| Been a flirter since my birth
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| They wrapped me up so I ain’t fuck the nurse
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| Too numb to react when you struck a nerve
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| So I hits the bitch in a circle jerk
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| With me, myself, and my demon semen
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| Canine teeth got me feline fiendin'
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| Hold up, rewind, make a beeline, feel like a bald eagle chiefin'
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| I ain’t even breathin'
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| I’m a motherfuckin' ghost, you can tell 'cause I float
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| And I lose my head without even bleeding
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| Fuck what a motherfucker thought, that they knew about us
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| We got the juice and we keep on squeezing
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| Like drip, drip, drip, drip, drip
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| Hold up me cup, me take a sip
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| Hold up me pinky, me think me rich
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| Me being foolish, me no pay rent
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| Me look at roomies, all of em pissed
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| Eviction notice taped to the fridge
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| Thank the most high, me no got kids
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| They would be cannibals, eating your kids
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| (I told her)
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| Girl I ain’t no star, I just ain’t from round here
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| My pilot told me I’ll go far if I stay from round here
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| (You see me in that Bentley, don’t start to actin' friendly)
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| Hell I’m so good at missing calls, bitch I’m perfect this year
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| (When the room’s spinning and the who’s who’s in it)
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| And I suggest you trace your scars if you get lost, my dear
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| (Aye you ain’t on the list, now the A-list enlisted)
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| I done had all night to think about this
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| I done had all life to think about this
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| Get a plate with strife and two sides of shit
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| Let me click my heels and toss on them grits
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| Let a nigga hold five 'til my grinder click
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| I done had all life to think about this
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| All y’all judging, handful of Bics
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| I done passed out twice and I ain’t been hit
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| Shit I might be blessed let me right this left
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| Navigate this ride, I really don’t need an apartment
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| Line like who bought the fifth
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| Hoop out the lobes and who had got kids
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| Let me get that little piece together
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| Pen start on my thesis sweater?
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| Make a way Head start on my niece’s sweater
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| Money thrown on my chicken, man pizza whatever
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| Gotta go, gotta go, gotta leave you better
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| Grew up where the leaves are wetter
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| And I hope and I pray when you read this letter
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| That the seeds don’t catch up to your knees already
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| 'Cause all my dogs good
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| They running, they running don’t run out the clock
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| They living in a falsehood for damn way too long, man, check out the stock
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| But that’s cool, y’all can keep on sipping out this narcissistic pool
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| And I’ma sit outside that shit just like the old dudes
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| Said I’ma sit outside that shit just like Kukoc do
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| And watch you jump hula hoops to satisfy your sudoku
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| Said baby girl I ain’t no star, I just ain’t from round here
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| (White walls and wood floors)
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| My pilot told me I’ll go far if I stay from round here
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| (You, you see me at the bar don’t, don’t go to hollerin' about no shots)
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| Hell I’m so good at missing calls, bitch I’m perfect this year
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| (Don't fuck with me)
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| And I suggest you trace your scars if you get lost, my dear
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| (One check out the window, people watching, slow up) |