| Gucci Sweaters, old love letters
|
| Hurt myself tryna make you better
|
| And I hate 'em now
|
| Yeah I really hate 'em now
|
| God almighty, fucked your psyche
|
| Loved yourself more than anybody
|
| Is that working out?
|
| Yeah, tell me how that’s working out
|
| I burnt all your birthday cards
|
| Threw your shit out in the year
|
| By the way, by the way, by the way
|
| Yeah, you ain’t no porn star, baby
|
| Yeah, you are kinda lazy
|
| And I was always faking with you
|
| Yeah, you ain’t no porn star, baby
|
| Yeah, you are kinda lazy
|
| And I was always faking with you
|
| I feel sorry for the next girl
|
| 'Cause you’ll never be rocking her world
|
| Does it make you mad?
|
| Oh, tell me, does it make you mad?
|
| You walk around, too big for your head
|
| But you got nothing that you’re packing
|
| Does it make you sad?
|
| Oh, tell me, does it make you sad?
|
| I hate all your stupid friends
|
| You act like you one of them
|
| By the way, by the way, by the way
|
| Yeah, you ain’t no porn star, baby
|
| Yeah, you are kinda lazy
|
| And I was always faking with you
|
| Yeah, you ain’t no porn star, baby |
| Yeah, you are kinda lazy
|
| And I was always faking with you
|
| Won’t pick up your clothes
|
| You know how it goes, we’re over
|
| I promise I’m good
|
| I don’t really need the closure
|
| Now you’re the ex
|
| So don’t try to text me this late
|
| Don’t flatter yourself
|
| We both know we wasn’t that great
|
| Yeah, you ain’t no porn star, baby
|
| Yeah, you are kinda lazy
|
| And I was always faking with you
|
| Yeah, you ain’t no porn star, baby
|
| Yeah, you are kinda lazy
|
| And I was always faking with you
|
| Gucci Sweaters, old love letters
|
| Hurt myself tryna make you better
|
| And I hate 'em now |