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She was part of the Air Force,
I was part of the band
I always used to bust into her hand
In my, my, my imagination
I was living my best life,
living with my parents
Way before the paying
penance and verbal propellants
And my, my, my cancellations,
hm, yeah
And I fell in love with a boy,
it was kinda lame
I was Rimbaud and
he was Paul Verlaine
In my, my, my imagination
So many cringes and heroin binges
I was coming off the hinges,
living on the fringes
Of my, my, my imagination, oh, yeah
Enough about me now
"You gotta talk about
the people, baby"
(But that's kind of the idea)
Now I'm home,
somewhere I don't like
Eating stuff off of motorbikes
Cumming to her lookalikes
I can't get the language right
Just tell me what's unladylike
I know some Vaccinista
tote bag chic baristas
Sitting in east
on their communista keisters
Writing about their ejaculations
"I like my men like I like my coffee
Full of soy milk and so sweet,
it won't offend anybody"
Whilst staining the pages
of The Nation, oh, yeah
A Xanax and a Newport
"Well I take care of my kids",
she said
The worst inside of us begets
That feeling on the internet
It's like someone intended it
(Like advertising cigarettes)
A diamond in the rough begets
The diamond with a scruff you get
Am I ironically woke?
The butt of my joke?
Or am I just some post-coke,
average, skinny bloke
Calling his ego imagination?
I've not picked up that
in a thousand four hundred days
And nine hours and
sixteen minutes, babe
It's kind of my daily iteration