Jarvis

And my snap judgment for you, Gerrard, is this.

At Carlton, the siren doesn't end games.

It exposes them.

There are red flags everywhere.

I'll speak to you next week, Gerard, because at this rate, mate, silence would feel irresponsible.

Not good enough.

Yo, this is Jarvis all the way from Georgia.

Jarvis.

I got some ribs for you, but go ahead and let you know off the rip.

I don't know nothing about no bodegas, no subways, metros, bacon egg on a bagel.

See, I'm from the South, Georgia specific.

We know about peaches and Black Baptist churches where your granddad is the deacon.

I only bring these things up just for me to mention that it's differences between us, let alone miles of distance.

But that don't stop my heart, nor death, nor good intentions.

See you smiling so hard, your cheekbones carving and denturing.

J. Cole said he want to fold clothes with his missus.

I'm trying to cook, load the washer, let them dry and stack the dishes.

Trying to write you letters to the envelope with a hundred kisses.

Trying to bring you to the South, get a feel for your characteristics.

Let you hear from horse's mouth.