(no subject)
one year i swore, "i love you and i'd never leave you, sally"
one year i put myself in a cardboard box and hustled kisses in a bowling alley
one year i predicted the end and before i put down the pen i knew i fucked up again.
this year there's a cancer in the cell
and i think you'd all be better off selling ice cream in hell.
who's keeping tabs on the tab keeper?
who's tipping cabs when the street sweeper,
sweeps up a nights worth of shame, but yours wont wash away,
so you take two tylenol p.m's and try to forget the name.
of the one you supposedly loved,
or of the one you quite possibly shoved.
and all evidence points to "maybe"
and maybe this isn't such a good idea,
can i take a rain check baby?
hell, i'm not so good at this "on-the-sly" shit,
but the fucked up part is i've been doing it my whole life, kid
this is the reason why the cowboy is always drunk,
this is the reason why he's always bleeding from the gums,
this is the reason he can't trust himself, let alone a hips pair, a tits pair or opposable thumbs.
i've got a gut full of warm lager.
and it all tastes like bath water.
so let's take a few more shots, let's pass out on cots, i'll disconnect the dots and i wont tell your father.
and this might be the year i peace out like i said in 05,
or this might be the year i sign a new lease on life.
all i knows is your keeping me on my toes as i try to keep my business out your mother fucking nose.
couples...couples...couples of thieves
you've been racking up lovers like you're raking up leaves, girl, please.
you think being taken like a whore is some ordinary, every day, household chore?
and i ain't even gettin' paid to sleaze around,
i'm just doing it to make myself a name in this town.
and are you following my logic yet?
i equate my tarnished rep with something better than a paycheck.
cuz when they pass me on the street,
that's one less little girl i ever have to meet.
but it doesn't always work out in my favor,
sometimes i end up thinking they're sweeter than a life savor,
or i might try to hate her,
but when i'm back in baby's arms it's like i'm back in the incubator.
and i could be your collectors item,
or i could be your prize fighter,
so just hand me the lighter as i torch up the bridge that led us from "friends" to "something more than friends."
and that's the end.
for now,
for later,
for better,
for worse,
for lovers,
for haters,
for chapstick in purses,
for drama
on myspace,
for kids who were "skaters,"
for those with big hearts,
and half-hearted pranksters,
for skeptics,
and schemers,
for liars,
and cheaters,
for bastards,
and cuties,
for pandas,
and lemurs,
for scumfucks,
and angels who only date demons...
one year i put myself in a cardboard box and hustled kisses in a bowling alley
one year i predicted the end and before i put down the pen i knew i fucked up again.
this year there's a cancer in the cell
and i think you'd all be better off selling ice cream in hell.
who's keeping tabs on the tab keeper?
who's tipping cabs when the street sweeper,
sweeps up a nights worth of shame, but yours wont wash away,
so you take two tylenol p.m's and try to forget the name.
of the one you supposedly loved,
or of the one you quite possibly shoved.
and all evidence points to "maybe"
and maybe this isn't such a good idea,
can i take a rain check baby?
hell, i'm not so good at this "on-the-sly" shit,
but the fucked up part is i've been doing it my whole life, kid
this is the reason why the cowboy is always drunk,
this is the reason why he's always bleeding from the gums,
this is the reason he can't trust himself, let alone a hips pair, a tits pair or opposable thumbs.
i've got a gut full of warm lager.
and it all tastes like bath water.
so let's take a few more shots, let's pass out on cots, i'll disconnect the dots and i wont tell your father.
and this might be the year i peace out like i said in 05,
or this might be the year i sign a new lease on life.
all i knows is your keeping me on my toes as i try to keep my business out your mother fucking nose.
couples...couples...couples of thieves
you've been racking up lovers like you're raking up leaves, girl, please.
you think being taken like a whore is some ordinary, every day, household chore?
and i ain't even gettin' paid to sleaze around,
i'm just doing it to make myself a name in this town.
and are you following my logic yet?
i equate my tarnished rep with something better than a paycheck.
cuz when they pass me on the street,
that's one less little girl i ever have to meet.
but it doesn't always work out in my favor,
sometimes i end up thinking they're sweeter than a life savor,
or i might try to hate her,
but when i'm back in baby's arms it's like i'm back in the incubator.
and i could be your collectors item,
or i could be your prize fighter,
so just hand me the lighter as i torch up the bridge that led us from "friends" to "something more than friends."
and that's the end.
for now,
for later,
for better,
for worse,
for lovers,
for haters,
for chapstick in purses,
for drama
on myspace,
for kids who were "skaters,"
for those with big hearts,
and half-hearted pranksters,
for skeptics,
and schemers,
for liars,
and cheaters,
for bastards,
and cuties,
for pandas,
and lemurs,
for scumfucks,
and angels who only date demons...