(Let them hoes die). Stop stressin' on me for the attention. (Let them hoes fight). You're excused, you're no competition. (Let them hoes die). Stop comin' at me, guns are a blazin'.
He's like my Cloe shoes, Betsey bag, oh he's cute. He's my Marc Jacobs chain, Prada shades, what's his name?. He's my, he's my, he's my, he's my latest accessory.
First act I wake to find the hope. To see you simply staring back at me. But still there's only emptiness calling. . To break the dream I once believed.