| Just like a rose
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| Everybody knows that you are so beautiful
|
| But I feel a thorn in my hide
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| I should’ve known, we can’t repair what we broke
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| But I held you close
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| Too close
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| I should’ve left your roses at the door
|
| They’re sharper than before
|
| And I don’t want them no more
|
| I should’ve left your roses at the door
|
| They’re sharper than before
|
| And I don’t need them no more
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| I have no time to give you guidance
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| Barely have any fuck time either
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| Hefner minded like, I think you’re fine, but
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| I seen the finest women that ever came out a beaver
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| Mind reader, can tell she vegan or not when I meet her
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| Or if she insecure, most are
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| If she’s mixed, a possible psycho alert goes off
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| Not a judge cause a judge don’t wear no draws, yet he allows
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| Everything to go to your spouse when you end your vows
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| My tax bracket not enough blacks have it
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| Who should I date? |
| Project chick or Cuban actress?
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| A white chick, they might flip talking that blackness
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| Should only attract black shit, I’m an ass magnet
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| If you mad at that, you’ll be mad forever
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| Never played you, I prayed we would stay together
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| Wished it’d last forever, know what I mean
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| Heard you tear a rose from the roots, the rose screams
|
| Just like a rose
|
| Everybody knows that you are so beautiful
|
| But I feel a thorn in my hide
|
| I should’ve known, we can’t repair what we broke
|
| But I held you close
|
| Too close
|
| Them Xanax can’t manage your maniac manic depressive expressions
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| They some silent killers, that stress shit
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| That put ulcers in a lot of niggas
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| I’m blowing medical, it helps chill a violent temper
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| I done went to hell and back, you always think you right
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| You know when you wrong, and still you want to fight
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| When people like my song, you want to kill 'em right?
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| You resent me every time I make a million right?
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| You want to experience life when you calling all the shots
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| Ordering bottles for all your girls up in the spot
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| Have your own cash, own your own Benz
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| Your own house, everything, me, I understand
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| Thought you would bask in the glory as Queen Bee
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| Put you on under Martin Scorsese: Mean Street
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| The first movie he made, thought that was fly
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| I thought you was flyer, you a fuckin' liar
|
| Just like a rose
|
| Everybody knows that you are so beautiful
|
| But I feel a thorn in my hide
|
| I should’ve known, we can’t repair what we broke
|
| But I held you close
|
| Too close
|
| I should’ve left your roses at the door
|
| They’re sharper than before
|
| And I don’t want them no more
|
| I should’ve left your roses at the door
|
| They’re sharper than before
|
| And I don’t need them no more |