| I went out to the club the other night
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| To, you know, dance with my bitches
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| That guy wa there again
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| Is it like
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| I’m sorry for what I said last weekend
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| I told him I didn’t mind, which was a lie
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| But I was equally sorry
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| And I didn’t want to apologize
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| It was just a drunk text
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| In my head I was writing a fiction of us Behind my eyes, I was begging for
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| Things my lip could never ask
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| And my mouth kept pouring
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| Desperate clauses of random intent
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| He asked me if he could text me later
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| After the club
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| He hands me another hot of vodka
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| And I say, sure
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| I’m on the dance floor when I get a text from adam
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| I’m too lazy to type, so I send him a photo I took up a dancer’s skirt
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| And tell him to come and get it Not realizing what I had just said
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| Later on, she comes up to me
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| Holds up her phone creaming at me and I say
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| I’m sorry, it was just a drunk text
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| I should’ve known they knew each other
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| No one is safe in the twitter sphere anymore
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| To take the world sex, and mix it with texting
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| It’s called sexting
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| When you add drunk sexting
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| The words just don’t make sen e It’s a hot mess of misspelled obscenities
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| Body parts, questions
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| I’m not sure what it means to ask
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| I get a text from my best friend
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| She’s up tairs getting bottle service
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| She’s like
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| This guy wants you to wet your lips with this bottle
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| He wants me to bring more girls up He’s ome kind of pimp
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| Are you fucking kidding me?
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| It’s just another moment
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| When one stupid reply can lead to the walk of shame
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| And I’ll be damned if I end up in some lame diner after I do this
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| With last night’s lingerie in my purse
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| It’s just a drunk text
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| It’s just a drunk text
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| This is the last time I ever drink and text
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| It’s ju t a drunk text
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| It’s just a drunk text |