| I love the way you took a second look into that book of matches
|
| Stamped with overlapping names and numbers, you mistook for matches
|
| You mistook for matches made in heaven’s workshop
|
| Squatting on that crooked mattress, where you chose to curse god
|
| For the first time, with a dirty slob, with the worst wine aftertaste
|
| He said you did a clerk’s job, while he jerks his and masturbates
|
| Now let that sink in. (Baby, what you been drinking?
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| Come on, you gotta start thinking.)
|
| You should have known that bastard dates the first mod squad model rep
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| To cast her mating skills into his fishy bowl of masticating lady thrills
|
| After debating with his trainees, he’ll say something fascinating
|
| Like, «Baby, chill, Kodak moments are fastly fading.»
|
| Then he’ll bravely swill the last of his remaining shady pills
|
| (It's that killed your baby!)
|
| And he said maybe we’ll meet again most likely under the sheets
|
| And then we’ll host a nightly hunter meets the hunted
|
| And then he cheats again, and your family trees bend over to lend a hand
|
| You’ve never been a fan of being a charity case; |
| you don’t want no minute man
|
| (What?)
|
| But you want his burial place
|
| If life gives you sour grapes, then make cheap wine
|
| Now how’s that parody taste?
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| It’s guaranteed to make of a daring team with a therapy face
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| Play 'Eternal Flame' on repeat until their stereo breaks
|
| Her posture was that of Marilyn Monroe
|
| Standing above a street vent, (Happy birthday, Mr. President)
|
| Except she wasn’t smiling, no white dresses. |
| (Not impressive)
|
| She cradled her stomach, and I could tell she was in pain
|
| She grabbed for those matches, (Can we talk?)
|
| And I wanted to stop her, but she was
|
| She said don’t bother me; |
| I’ll lose the truth
|
| As the man who fathered me blew it
|
| Walking me through his two-fisted trail of fallen trees
|
| Until I’m probably toothless
|
| Besides you’re just a primate and talking to me is useless
|
| I said you’re not biting; |
| you’re barking and it’s music to my ears
|
| (I don’t want to admit it You don’t know me!
|
| You don’t know what I did! |
| How am I to get around?
|
| I used to be the shit)
|
| I tore the wiring from her forklift
|
| She dropped dead gorgeous in her four seasons porch
|
| With her lips pressed against the cordless phone
|
| It was off the hook, you get it?
|
| (Yeah, haha-- That’s funny shit-- Is that a joke? Yeah, yeah.)
|
| They call this girl but-her-nose, everything looks good
|
| But her nose is filled with coke, she just won’t admit it
|
| (Hahaha. Get it? Yeah, yup. That’s like fucking -- yes, I do get it.
|
| Good, that’s good.)
|
| You struck a hand full of matches at the same time
|
| And couldn’t figure out which stick to draw first
|
| Each one got a little closer to you and it hurts now
|
| Since that draft pick got worse
|
| You got the first degree from each one at the same time
|
| They want the news and the weather
|
| Instead you led them down the date line
|
| And now your sticky fingers fuse together
|
| Back in the days when she was a teenager
|
| Before she struck those matches and before she went through labor
|
| You could find this underager double fistin' Mother Nature
|
| Moms used to say it reminded her of her
|
| Savior
|
| If it hadn’t been for that, you know, volley of ideas
|
| And sometimes butting of heads together
|
| It wouldn’t have come out as good as it did
|
| Because it builds up anger actually
|
| And you--
|
| You get more out of yourself
|
| And he knew that
|
| And he knew he was getting more out of me by doing that
|
| So it was sort of like a game-- |