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grieves - my girlfriend beats me lyrics

[verse 1 – type]
stepping out my house an extra bounce to my skip
40 ounce bottle empty, evidence is on my lips
same brown cargos, same old kicks
broken down, no hoes, though i feel like a pimp
and this is it, this ought to be the top of the chain
skid marks on my boxers, tags bearing my name
headache, heavy eyelids i’m lacking on sleep
have spliffs which are hanging from the back of my t–th

i don’t care dude, if i was rich i’d probably have some hair too
some nice little roots to go along with these clear boots nah!
cos i don’t really have those either
just two black eyes for being one part cheater
two f-cked up knees and one torn t-shirt
one bl–dy -ss nose and a bruised up p-n-s
she caught me in the morning with a used condom on
she beat my f-cking -ss so nonchalant

[hook x2]
i look f-cked up cos my girlfriend beats me
every god d-mn weekend when she catches me cheating
fellas if you got a girl don’t give her a reason
you better watch where your c-ck go skeet-skeeting

[verse 2 – grieves]

people say that i should leave her, i’m in love with her mind dog
bruises on my face since she was drunk and it was my fault
i should’ve known that i couldn’t get away with sh-t
when she follows me to work and now refers to me as “b-tch”
makes me hold on to her pocket when we’re walking the strip
and keeps a black book, with the contacts of all of my friends

and d-mn, i’m having troubles conceding it
going out to have a drink and coming home and getting beat to sh-t
and all my homies try to say that i’m a victim –
a b-tch one who lets his girlfriend f-cking hit him
but it’s not that simple, her and i are soul-mates
a match made in heaven plus we’re living at her folks place

and i’ll admit it – it’s a little bit weird
that all she does it watch football and call me a queer
down’s a whole fifth of whiskey and boxes both of my ears
and p-sses out b-tt naked on the couch with a beer

[verse 3 type]
domestic abuse, it ain’t a one way system
this is kind of on the tip of some reverse racism
she told me that the kitchen is exactly where her place is
and always to look plain cos she doesn’t like the taste yes
at home i do the dishes while she watches tv
channel surfing drunk while her man cooks and cleans
i’m always sitting shotgun when we’re rolling in my ride
she wears the pants and she likes to drive

[verse 4 – grieves]
black eyes, bruised wrists and microwavable dinners
telling lies to social servants, people saying i slip-uh
either way, me leaving is not an option
life without my lady’s like a flaming bag of dog-sh-t
and i’m-ma tell the cops this next time she xxxx me to stop it
they probably heard us f-cking getting rowdy

but hey, i’m guilty for concealing this secret
that when she’s out playing poker
i’m compulsed to be eating stuff

- grieves lyrics

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