Justine's Interlude

Feels good to be home

Yeah, yeah, uh

If I got you and my son and my God on my side

What's the point of anybody else ridin'?

It's so much stuck on my mental, it's so much you on my mind

It's so much money and pussy, yeah, you'd think I'm goin' blind

I think it's

Funny how blogs talk

Funny how many shows I had went to where models walked

So many stories 'bout you and so-and-so who from Harlem

It ain't too many from Harlem, so take a guess

Takin' a jet so I can recollect

You say: What's up with you, baby?

I always say: What's next?

I mean what is we in it for?

Revenge from your friends' circle like what did we enter for?

Tired of fancy dinners, I'm tired of diamond ballin'

I'm tired of hearin' 'bout if this nigga put hands on you

Tired of tryna smile through shit that's affectin' us

Then I get to overthinkin' if I'm here messin' up

Mac died and I couldn't talk, couldn't bear the thought

Two days before it, we was talkin' 'bout love and loss

Then he mentioned Ariana mama and newer songs

Never told a soul, but I knew he was dead all along

You do somethin' to me

I write all my songs about women I never keep

I hate when I have to lose 'em, I hate 'em when it's deep

You one of my six women that's in the east

I hate makin' promises that I never keep

So promise to never ever be too patient with me

Justine, promise me

Love and loyalty, that's over honesty (uh)

The devil be talkin' but God controllin' me (uh)

Roc Nation dinners that inquire 'bout Meek (uh)

My God the realest (uh), that's how we meet (uh)

Yeah, uh, uh, uh, uh

Yeah, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh

Yeah

Harlem Shake on these niggas, nah mean?

Bitch ass niggas