C’mon, baby, you being stubborn now. What more do you want? He said he was sorry. That didn’t work. Then he sent you a literal truckload of red roses and red carnelians, practically flooding your living room. That didn’t work. Alright, two can play at that game.

He released an album with your name on it, a Polaroid photo of you two at the state fair, cheek to cheek and beaming smiles on both of your faces as the cover, with song titles like “Take Me Back” or “My Baby’s Interlude”, he even got Summer Walker and Brent Faiyaz on the album, what more do you want?

He chased you for eighty days and eighty one nights around the world. He’d get a tip you’re in Bologna, best believe he’ll get a condo in Milan. Morocco, Belize, Brazil, Tobago, Britain, Greenland, doesn’t matter baby, he’s just tryna say sorry.

He has the Chanel bags at the crib, your favorite chef on standby for when you do forgive him, a Benz with a big silver bow in his driveway, he’s sorry, baby, just come home.