| Hey Alex, it’s me
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| I just wanted to hit you up to see if maybe you could give me a call sometime
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| and we could…
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| Talk about what we’re doing; |
| what this is
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| The way it’s going right now, I…
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| I’m going crazy
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| Okay, bye
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| Won’t you stay with me
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| Till the morning sun comes up?
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| Come away with me
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| There’s nothing here for you, what’s there to lose?
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| Won’t you stay with me
|
| Till the morning sun comes up?
|
| Come away with me
|
| There’s nothing here for you, what’s there to lose?
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| To maintain, that’s the price of fame
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| Walked in, lights dim, never knowing my name
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| Now it’s sold-out shows, they try expose what I made
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| You a fake-ass rapper, you a hoe in a lane
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| And I made this life from picking holes in my brain
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| I was born with a vision, Alexander the Great
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| And that fake love creeping like the cancer I born
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| June 27th, 1993, I came on
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| With them black fists high and them blisters in it
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| Black boy, white friends, he don’t know different
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| Days spent scrubbing on his face in the mirror
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| My blood bleed red so why them homeboys whisper?
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| Cold nights and dead friends, man, I still get shivers
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| I still wet the bed, I remember being with you
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| I see vividness in places I go
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| I see dead bodies flying of the ones that cut short
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| And these dreams that I’m living only present to crawl
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| And I love you, my nigga, but I’m doing the most
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| Won’t you stay with me
|
| Till the morning sun comes up?
|
| Come away with me
|
| There’s nothing here for you, what’s there to lose?
|
| Won’t you stay with me
|
| Till the morning sun comes up?
|
| Come away with me
|
| There’s nothing here for you, what’s there to lose?
|
| Won’t you stay with me
|
| Till the morning sun comes up?
|
| Come away with me
|
| There’s nothing here for you, what’s there to lose?
|
| Won’t you stay with me
|
| Till the morning sun comes up?
|
| Come away with me
|
| There’s nothing here for you, what’s there to lose? |