[T.I.:]

Your wrist and fingers glisten, ice cold like Michigan,

Look at what we livin in, here we go with this again:

I just keep on talkin, but I guess that you ain't listenin,

Rather run around with them nothin' ass bitches, then

Go on, got me hot, smokin like a chimney,

We used to be best friends, now it seems we finna be enemies.

Deep inside it's killin me, but soon its gon' be killin you

To see her in that two seater, now that's gon' hurt your feelin's, boo.

Ah ha, didn't you think you would be over me?

By now so you go sleepin with them clowns, they are no relief,

She spoke her piece, I know, capisce,

So love must be let go, released

Into the wind, again, again, and deuces, I must throw ya peace.