| At the end of it all
|
| No one wants to drink alone
|
| Baby, that’s how it goes
|
| Don’t walk away from me
|
| Fragmented memories
|
| Sentences incomplete
|
| That’s when she said
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| «Don't wanna put up a fight anymore
|
| I’m down to the end of my rope
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| And I’m freefalling
|
| I’ll search inside myself
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| I need to know why I act this way»
|
| A whisper turns to a scream
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| I can’t ignore it no more
|
| At the end of it all
|
| No one wants to drink alone
|
| Baby, that’s how it goes
|
| From my eyewitness binoculars (uh-huh)
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| To Argentina and Africa (uh-huh)
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| We mastered the (what?) pressure (yeah)
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| Hazardous (uh-huh), harassing us (that's right)
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| You laugh at us (you did)
|
| More accurate at bagging dimes, now we bagging rhymes
|
| Bodybags, price tags on your forehead
|
| Nine times out of ten, young niggas are nine or ten
|
| When the line becomes thin: be a killer or fireman
|
| Fill up the lavish pen if I needed to right my wrongs
|
| I can’t deny sin, condolences through these palms
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| I remember when your cousin was coming home
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| My bitch, why we plotted to kill him 'cause we ain’t know him
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| Unfamiliar faces make niggas nervous
|
| Convicted court cases might hit the surface
|
| Restricted territories might come through lurkin'
|
| We ain’t want none of that urgent call
|
| Well, I’ma act Turk and fall on my identity, percocets
|
| For all the headaches, I’m 'bout to bring confetti
|
| Tumble out this barrel soon as it ring, you ready?
|
| That was the word 'for we moved on 'em
|
| Treat him like Joe the Plumber
|
| I wonder if someone come and can see this tool on him
|
| Immature and retarded is what you call me
|
| Your cousin wa’n’t coming home from the pen but from the army
|
| If I can right my wrongs and pen this verse I read
|
| Even though a bullet hit him in the leg, still walk on by
|
| At the end of it all
|
| No one wants to drink alone
|
| Baby that’s how it goes
|
| Don’t walk away from me |