He's not going to be into you.

 

I mean, who would want to date a girl blacker than the nighttime sky who daydreams about Star Wars and how to make the world a better place for little black boys and girls.

 

He's not going to be into you.

 

If you don't have a long weave or if yo' ass isn't bigger than the sun, if your skin isn't the shade of the inside of your hand, you ain't shit ma. He says: "I miss your coco butter kisses." I think you mean "I miss the way your lips taste after you've smoked one too many packs." 

 

He's not going to be into you.

 

He's not going to be smiling when you two walk down the street holding hands. He won't even hold your hand. He is going to say "I just want to keep things on the low." He won't show you off to his friends, he won't take you home to mom and pops. He won't get on one knee and try to make an honest woman out of you. He wouldn't want kids blacker than your soul. 

 

He won't love you.

 

He'll only love you when you're on your back in his bed. He'll only think of you as his dirty, little fuck. He said something like: "fuck me into open caskets." After its done you silently hope he takes you out to dinner or even have the decency to walk you home. But he doesn't. It's all backwards. 

 

He's not going to be into you.

 

But Cleopatra don't hold your head down. 

You've got an empire to run.