Sorry, I ain't sorry I ain't thinking 'bout you I ain't sorry, nigga, nah I ain't sorry Middle fingers up, put them hands high Wave it in his face, tell him, boy, bye No no, hell nah He trying to roll me up, I ain't picking up Headed to the club, I ain't

I'm thinking 'bout coming home, babe I'm thinking 'bout coming home I love you in the morning when the blood runs to your cheeks Babe, you are the first thing and the last thing that I'd see I was just a boy striking matches upon your heart I couldn't