This is a hauntingly beautiful song about introspection, specifically about looking back at a relationship that started bad and ended so poorly, that the narrator wants to go back to the very beginning and tell himself to not even travel down that road. I believe that the relationship started poorly because of the lines:
"Take me back to the night we met:When the night was full of terrors: And your eyes were filled with tears: When you had not touched me yet"
So, the first night was not a great start, but the narrator pursued the relationship and eventually both overcame the rough start to fall in love with each other:
"I had all and then most of you"
Like many relationships that turn sour, it was not a quick decline, but a gradual one where the narrator and their partner fall out of love and gradually grow apart
"Some and now none of you"
Losing someone who was once everything in your world, who you could confide in, tell your secrets to, share all the most intimate parts of your life, to being strangers with that person is probably one of the most painful experiences a person can go through. So Painful, the narrator wants to go back in time and tell himself to not even pursue the relationship.
This was the perfect song for "13 Reasons Why"
Dis dat so so def shit
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Every time I do it, you know just who I do it fo'
My o.g. niggas, my girls in the strip club
And fa my top cats that's block cruisin'
That's for the coops serve the rocks on the block music
And any club, any party don't rock dis
I'm sendin' my trend dog its lean wit it, rock wit it
And fo' the projects buildings behind the locked gates
They do what they gotta do and hustle at a top rate
Movin' dem o's makin' dey pension
We grind til we ride sittin' on 24 inches
My ghetto niggas and bitches know how to keep it hood
I keep it gutta I'm a gangsta you know just how I do it
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
I'm the shit you can't say I'm not
I keep white keep purp like a crayon box
Ay, and got a nice whipped game and I can't lie
Shit I could cook coke on a camp fire
Put it in my hands, I can make it go
If I can't move it then I'm a call Tony yo
I let the bullets from my gun spread
Sippin' hard while you down on the corn bread
First I droppin' the mix
Hit the pot like a Edward and bought 8 bricks
Yup, in my white tee so you know I keep it white
And I keep green like a traffic light
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Yo pimpin', you know who it be its B.U.N to the little be
One hundred and one percent gangsta check my pedigree
Movin' through yo' city like a muthafuckin' mayor
Hate on me nigga like I muthafuckin' care
I'm the king of the trill, got the streets in a head lock
A head busta piece so heads up I keep the lead cocked
Sellin' mo yayo than you could stuff in a bread box
And I'm a keep on pushin' even when the fed's flop
I represent the trill, I stand up fo' the hood
I'm holdin' down the underground just like a nigga should
U-G-K and D-F-B we do it fo' the block
Dem d boyz in the trap holdin' work keepin' it cocked
It don't stop
I make my music for the ones servin' J's, servin' j's
The bitches in the club shakin' ass fo the pay, fo the pay
Fo' the ones one the block, ten hoe block holders
Fo' the ones that'll knock ya head off ya shoulders
That's gangsta I doin' fo' the thugs
And the bitches in the hood on erry type of drug
Shipped across the border from purp to the cola
I hustle spreewells like fa three ten and molders
Pond shop niggas, keep a couple handguns
Chopper in the trunk and they keep one in the head son
Bun is out the test you wanna test son
My motive is to kill a nigga shoot above the chest boy
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Every time I do it, you know just who I do it fo'
My o.g. niggas, my girls in the strip club
And fa my top cats that's block cruisin'
That's for the coops serve the rocks on the block music
And any club, any party don't rock dis
I'm sendin' my trend dog its lean wit it, rock wit it
And fo' the projects buildings behind the locked gates
They do what they gotta do and hustle at a top rate
Movin' dem o's makin' dey pension
We grind til we ride sittin' on 24 inches
My ghetto niggas and bitches know how to keep it hood
I keep it gutta I'm a gangsta you know just how I do it
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
I'm the shit you can't say I'm not
I keep white keep purp like a crayon box
Ay, and got a nice whipped game and I can't lie
Shit I could cook coke on a camp fire
Put it in my hands, I can make it go
If I can't move it then I'm a call Tony yo
I let the bullets from my gun spread
Sippin' hard while you down on the corn bread
First I droppin' the mix
Hit the pot like a Edward and bought 8 bricks
Yup, in my white tee so you know I keep it white
And I keep green like a traffic light
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Yo pimpin', you know who it be its B.U.N to the little be
One hundred and one percent gangsta check my pedigree
Movin' through yo' city like a muthafuckin' mayor
Hate on me nigga like I muthafuckin' care
I'm the king of the trill, got the streets in a head lock
A head busta piece so heads up I keep the lead cocked
Sellin' mo yayo than you could stuff in a bread box
And I'm a keep on pushin' even when the fed's flop
I represent the trill, I stand up fo' the hood
I'm holdin' down the underground just like a nigga should
U-G-K and D-F-B we do it fo' the block
Dem d boyz in the trap holdin' work keepin' it cocked
It don't stop
I make my music for the ones servin' J's, servin' j's
The bitches in the club shakin' ass fo the pay, fo the pay
Fo' the ones one the block, ten hoe block holders
Fo' the ones that'll knock ya head off ya shoulders
That's gangsta I doin' fo' the thugs
And the bitches in the hood on erry type of drug
Shipped across the border from purp to the cola
I hustle spreewells like fa three ten and molders
Pond shop niggas, keep a couple handguns
Chopper in the trunk and they keep one in the head son
Bun is out the test you wanna test son
My motive is to kill a nigga shoot above the chest boy
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
My Music Lyrics as written by Jermaine Dupri Chad Butler
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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