But Chicky's was...
She liked me.
She liked you, huh?
How do you know?
I know.
The eyes, Chico.
They never lie.
Yo, she got that smile again.
And I'm going in.
Got the girl laughing.
You got jokes on the cell, but I ain't texting.
I got notes.
So one day you may end up in a song I wrote.
A lot of joking leaves a lot unspoken.
But the * ain't broken.
We ain't trying to fix it.
Bacardi'd up looking for a son to mix with.
Ice, Coke, coffee cups, party in the kitchen.
My favorite.
Put the * down.
I'll pay for it.
* it if I can't pay the rent.
That's irrelevant tonight.
How many folks alive yesterday is dead tonight.
Here's what we going to do.
Let the overdraft float the cash.
Play some Pendergrass.
Peep some photographs.
Have a smoke, a laugh.
You bring the sugar, I'll bring the spice.
And everything beyond that's just icing.
Cause it's the language of looks.
It's the meaning of eyes.
It's the business of pretty goodbyes.
It's the study of size.
It's the science of silence.
It's the feeling of home.
It's the meaning of leaving well enough alone.
It's the fine art of shutting up and all cause.
Yeah.
I got somebody.
And I bet you got someone probably.
A hottie like you?
Gotta be.
And we both know policy.
And who needs that kind of drama or karma?
I'm trying to live honorably.
Then sometimes I hit the bar and G. Bump some R&B.
And ask myself what the harm would be.
One person for you ain't true.
You could love all kinds and wear yourself out looking.
I got a good thing.
She need love.
You need love.
I need love.
So I make three mistakes in one.
Musical chairs.
Nobody want to be the odd one out.
And nobody said the * was fair.
Love is a dare.
And everybody's where.
I'm going to try to play this * square.
Just be prepared.
Cause it's the language of looks.
It's the meaning of eyes.
It's the business of pretty goodbyes.
It's the study of size.
It's the science of silence.
It's the feeling of home.
It's the meaning of leaving well enough alone.
It's the fine art of shutting up and all cause.
Yeah.
Black boots and a rollie bag.
Low key.
And she knows she bad.
We at the airport waiting on my ride.
She waiting on her ride.
But for now, me and her sharing this sidewalk.
Eyes talking.
Firework.
God forks *.
And there I am.
Me and my thoughts.
Sexy lady.
Me and you'd have pretty babies.
Wavy hair, maybe.
Yeah.
We'd sail the world with a butler named Pierre.
And live life lazy fair.
And you'd still be
fly when you 80 years.
Then in my head I see my girl smiling.
She got that look in her
eyes.
And sun's on the horizon.
Homegirl's man pulls up.
Grilling me.
And as they ride
off she winks at me.
Yeah.
Take that energy and give it to your squeeze.
Cause that's
what I'm a do believe.
Cause it's the language of looks.
It's the meaning of eyes.
It's the
business of pretty goodbyes.
It's the study of size.
It's the science of silence.
It's
the feeling of home.
It's the meaning of leaving well enough alone.
It's the fine art of shutting
up in August.