Let's pretend he had a home to run, saving the days,
Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave
If we thinking success is only measured by your money
Not the days he spent so carefully, crafting words to his melody
Now i’m armed and i’m fayetnam’s finest
Never gonna get it back so don't start to think
Who baby momma's a rat, and who got killed last weekend
Never gonna get it back so don't even start to think
Never gonna get it back so don't start to think
Break himand let him see tha face of a mental patient
I think back to the memories of everything we shared,
I cut my wrist and play piano cause i'm so depressed
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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