Music
[Verse 1]Hey, tequila to free the wormHad his liver scuba suit up on the SabbathHis personal pale rabbitAt the hole's end her delicate mitten tippedFor sticking pissy liquor in him every day at sixSilly, predictability is a bitchFully patterned, had her awkwardly christening the small talk chalk boardShe said, "This is less of a fixer-upper than my last bar.""Funny, you're less of a fixer-upper than my last whore."Crass is Similac to the milky wit of today's youthsBoth chuckle outNext couple on the houseNext couple on the couchSwapping social coma rantsPhobias and soldier doubts, jokes and corporate mogul bansMotor-mouthsThe key to open his closure:Pussy plus yay; she hid in a broken toasterAnd later wake neighbors over chemical flavor to fuck sicklyTooth, nail beauty through the skin deep[Verse 2]Now the dizziness is similar to whimsy with a pretty twistIf pretty is a bidding war for meteors of iffy sniffAnd cigarettes, and pills on a speakerSilhouetted by the muted television and the rickety VenetiansBetween tweaks, he sweeps at home depot and readsMostly biblical, but not cause he believedBut found the lexicon of Jesus-heavy literature flyFeverishly sponged up the information highFade into the cradle of his same deck train wreckShe pet him with a mechanical tape deck play backPlus, the depressing sum of the two combined pay checksStung less when little Debbie D-cup put her legs backDrunk, put her on the business-end of his favorite couplet from CorinthiansSunk into the comforts of a kid againEnough to share the stuff that truly interest himThis is where the vision of a shiny, happy Christmas endTipsy little princess wasn't listening, just yes-ing himThe more she fed him "yes", the more he fed her fresh barbituratesAssuming it was them against the world into oblivionBut he was just a stupid simian that her live with him[Verse 3]Pirouetting madly on a mirror full of baggiesIn the valley of the irritable AggieAny sincerity, miracles, or memory buried in the back-seatBy the hazardous materials was seriously gaspingHere he is in action trying to patch up the attractionFigured he would win her back if he act in a common passionPenned a couple chapters 'bout a sassy pair of magnetsWith a cottage on a hill and a picket fence and a marriageNever having gathered her rabid enthusiasm over languageWas fashioned around the aspirin in his cabinetsAsked her to read it expecting flattery after the factThis is an exact imitation of how she react:"You ain't shit man, your story's a jokeYou should package it with a last smoke and six feet of rope."Man she knows five chores, more coke, and all foursSaid, "Leave me on the floor and leave the dope by the door."Bounced all shook up, she cook up aluminumConsuming every skull and crossbones in the roomIn under two minutes, he fuming with a flipped lid, stormed into the cribAnd found her body on the tiles like, "No she didn't!", yes she did