Some more shit I could have written

Its getting harder to live with the anger. And home aint home when you live with a stranger. I thought I knew you like the back of my hand. Fast forward 3 years. And I got smacked with the back of her hand.

Find out the wife that you sleeping with play herself start creeping with one of your dudes you confused you don’t know who to get even with. Maybe you’re not even the same bitch I was even with.

I’m now scarred. You make it type hard for me to see the next broad and not think that she just some other hoe or slaw, but thanks. I see relationships in a different hue, son; to get over the old girl [you] gotta get a new one. ½ of me still with you (but I don’t care yall), the other ½ with her (I’m stuck) so I compare yall. Me and her is now, me and you got memories, me and you got love, me and her got chemistry. She’s like a friend to me, you like the enemy, or maybe she’s there just to cover that resentment, b, or maybe she aint as fake as you and won’t take me threw that same phase as you, or maybe its simple, she seen all that pain I was in and won’t make the same mistake as you. I mean, I never had an issue with trust, I never knew you had an issue with lust, we can get thru anything in this world if the issue’s discussed. Was it a whole separate issue, or an issue with us. But it gets bigger: you doubting you. You like “shit nigga, was his money long or was his dick bigger?” I’m getting sick nigga. When you alone, just you and you’re imagination, you paint a sick picture. —Joe Budden

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