This Is the Sort of Relationship that Ends with “Bad Boys, Bad Boys, What You Going to Do? … ” In Other Words, Not Well

Why you gotta' do me like that?
When I call you don't call me back.
I'm texting you, wondering where you at.
That's fucked up. Why you do me like that?

I'm here sleeping, you tricking
In the club with dirty bitches.
My girl was there and she witness.
She had a camera phone. She took pictures.

You was on the dance floor, grinding
With a stripper ho' named Diamond.
You were thrusting hard. You were shining.
Everything she drank, you buying.

But n—r, you need to stop lying
Before I get mad and pull out my knife.
You want a new bitch to fuck, that's fine.
But don't fuck hers and try to fuck mine.

You keep telling me you ain't touch her,
But something keep telling me you done fucked her.
But I ain't no bitch you want to play with.
N—r, drop them boxers. Let me smell yo' dick.


Well, okay, but I have to tell you, this level of distrust is killing our relationship.