Ms. Johnson
Baby doll, I had to block you on Instagram, you kept postin' pictures of your new man and man
I ain't tryna rekindle our love affair once again, but help me understand
You got with this nigga two weeks after me, you could at least act like you give a damn, I mean damn
I would've protected your pretty brown skin from anything, even the Ku Klux Klan
I know you watchin' your figure if you wanted a cheat day I would've took you to Aunt Anne's
What the hell could've changed so drastically for you and me in a two month span?
You like my baby, my Mercedes, my lady, most important you my friend
Most things come to an end, but we could've came to a comma
Matter of fact, where's your mama?
You know your momma love me, what's your mama sayin'?
You know your poppa trust me, what's your poppa sayin'? You know-
Ms. Johnson, did you know your daughter was runnin' around datin' a short nigga from Wisconsin?
Now I don't got nothin' against short niggas, but hmm
Ms. Johnson, at least I'm tall
At least I can teach our kids how to ball like Tristan Thompson
And I'll teach 'em all of my player ways, you know my good ones not my bad ones
I gotta step up and be a father 'cause it get wicked when you don't have one
Wonder what type of dad I'd be, would I be this one? Would I be that one?
I'd be like LeBron James jumpin', screamin' at all the games, yeah, I'd be that one
Yeah, I'd be that one
Sorry, I gotta go
Sorry, Ms. Johnson
I ain't tryna rekindle our love affair once again, but help me understand
You got with this nigga two weeks after me, you could at least act like you give a damn, I mean damn
I would've protected your pretty brown skin from anything, even the Ku Klux Klan
I know you watchin' your figure if you wanted a cheat day I would've took you to Aunt Anne's
What the hell could've changed so drastically for you and me in a two month span?
You like my baby, my Mercedes, my lady, most important you my friend
Most things come to an end, but we could've came to a comma
Matter of fact, where's your mama?
You know your momma love me, what's your mama sayin'?
You know your poppa trust me, what's your poppa sayin'? You know-
Ms. Johnson, did you know your daughter was runnin' around datin' a short nigga from Wisconsin?
Now I don't got nothin' against short niggas, but hmm
Ms. Johnson, at least I'm tall
At least I can teach our kids how to ball like Tristan Thompson
And I'll teach 'em all of my player ways, you know my good ones not my bad ones
I gotta step up and be a father 'cause it get wicked when you don't have one
Wonder what type of dad I'd be, would I be this one? Would I be that one?
I'd be like LeBron James jumpin', screamin' at all the games, yeah, I'd be that one
Yeah, I'd be that one
Sorry, I gotta go
Sorry, Ms. Johnson
Credits
Writer(s): Ivan Barias, Carvin Haggins, Randall C. Bowland, Adam W. Blackstone, Corey Latif Williams, Wayne George Robert Mccurdy, Johnnie Smith Ii, Jesse Lawrence Owusu
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.