Poetic Justice FEATURING DRAKE

Every second, every minute, man I swear that she can get it Say if you a bad bitch put your hands up high, hands up high, hands up high Tell'em dim the lights down right now, put me in the mood I'm talking 'bout dark room, perfume Go, go! I recognize your fragrance (hol' up!) You ain't never gotta say shit (woo!) And I know your taste is A little bit (mmm) high maintenance (ooh) Everybody else basic You live life on an everyday basis With poetic justice, poetic justice If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it? I mean I write poems in these songs dedicated to you when You're in the mood for empathy, there's blood in my pen Better yet, where your friends and them? I really wanna know you all I really wanna show you off Fuck that, pour up plenty of champagne Cold nights when you curse this name You called up your girlfriends and Y'all curled in that little bitty Range I heard that She wanna go and party, she wanna go and party Nigga, don't approach her with that Atari Nigga, that ain't good game, homie, sorry They say conversation rule a nation, I can tell But I could never right my wrongs 'less I write it down for real, P.S You can get it, you can get it You can get it, you can get it And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want Poetic justice, put it in a song You can get it, you can get it You can get it, you can get it And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want Poetic justice, put it in a song I really hope you play this Cause ol' girl you test my patience With all these seductive photographs and all these one off vacations You've been taking Clearly a lot for me to take in It don't make sense Young East African Girl, you too busy fucking with your other man I was trying to put you on game, put you on a plane Take you and your mama to the motherland I could do it, maybe one day When you figure out you're gonna need someone When you figure out it's all right here in the city And you don't run from where we come from That sound like poetic justice, poetic justice You were so new to this life but God damn you got adjusted I mean I write poems in these songs, dedicated to the fun sex Your natural hair and your soft skin, and your big ass in that sundress (ooh!) Good God, what you doing that walk for? When I see that thing move, I just wish we would fight less and we would talk more And they say communication save relations, I can tell But I can never right my wrongs unless I write them down for real P.S You can get it, you can get it You can get it, you can get it And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want Poetic justice, put it in a song You can get it, you can get it You can get it, you can get it And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want Poetic justice, put it in a song Every time I write these words they become a taboo Making sure my punctuation curve, every letter is true Living my life in the margin and that metaphor was proof I'm talking poetic justice, poetic justice If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it? I mean you need to hear this Love is not just a verb, it's you looking in the mirror Love is not just a verb, it's you looking for it, maybe Call me crazy, We can both be insane A fatal attraction is common And what we have common is pain I mean you need to hear this Love is not just a verb and I can see power steering Sex drive when you swerve, I want that interference It's coherent, I can hear it, mmhmm That's your heartbeat It either caught me or it called me, mmhmm Breathe slow and you'll find gold mines in these lines Sincerely, yours truly And right before you go blind P.S You can get it, you can get it You can get it, you can get it And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want Poetic justice, put it in a song (“I'm gon' ask you one more time homie, where is you from? Or it is a problem”) (“Ay you over here for Sherane homie?” “Yo I don't care who this nigga) (over here for, if he don't tell where he come, it's wrap! I'm sorry”) (“Hol' up hol' up, we gon' do it like this, OK? I'mma tell you) (where I'm from, OK? You gon' tell me where you from, OK?) (Or where your Grandma stay, where your mama stay, or where your daddy) (stay, OK?” “Enough with all this talkin” “Matter of fact, get out (the van homie. Get out the car before I snatch you out that mother fucker homie”)