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If my pride would taste like wine, I would be just fine, every single time I had to swallow
mine
and if tears were patron on the night I spent at home, I wouldnt have to cry in the mirror
just so not to feel alone
but "ifs" not a fifth of *** and rum aint a love doctor and that right there wont change
which is just a crying shame
so i cry, hoping the bottom of the bottle will help me find my way, using my tears as
salt to help me down this drank,
cuz if you cant save me baby who the *** will, I cry, hoping things will change