[hook] do you want to be my grrlfriend? do you want to be my sweetheart? the smell of you is getting me off… our little friends are getting harder… a cliché thing to say for sure, feets in fishnets were the lure, my first girl only wore velour, so I’m thinking this fire truck’s more mature, I checked the curvature, of her furniture, but since Saturday Night died I’m uncertain, until words are heard, like verbs to nerds, it’s important—for I may end up disturbing her, and that wouldn’t work, I’d feel like a jerk, and I’d have to ask her back for my sweatshirt, my neck would hurt from the stress when I’m less than perfect, and she might wanna cut like kurt, nervous? yes sir, got game? never! walked up like, “hi…my name is…yours, girl,” she smiled back like that’s pure manure, and while bush was killing arabs like The Cure, I said, “let’s say we stray from sex, to be sure,” she said, “baby, you’re way too demure.” [hook] she’s like “uhhh…give it to me!” I’m like dave chappelle, “…naaah…see,” “baby, don’t tease me, like baywatch, on TV, breathe into me deeply,” I said, “maybe I’m just kind of sleepy,” “maybe you’re just gay, if you can’t feel the way my heart is beating!” could’ve made me mad and seething, but I simply snapped her g-string, she was ready for some faster breathing so I had little red, riding wood, weeping, teed-off on g-spots like mtv pop, and shot colors when she rocked my peacock…

[hook] do you want to be my grrlfriend? do you want to be my sweetheart? the smell of you is getting me off… our little friends are getting harder… a cliché thing to say for sure, feets in fishnets were the lure, my first girl only wore velour, so I’m thinking this fire truck’s more mature, I checked the curvature, of her furniture, but since Saturday Night died I’m uncertain, until words are heard, like verbs to nerds, it’s important—for I may end up disturbing her, and that wouldn’t work, I’d feel like a jerk, and I’d have to ask her back for my sweatshirt, my neck would hurt from the stress when I’m less than perfect, and she might wanna cut like kurt, nervous? yes sir, got game? never! walked up like, “hi…my name is…yours, girl,” she smiled back like that’s pure manure, and while bush was killing arabs like The Cure, I said, “let’s say we stray from sex, to be sure,” she said, “baby, you’re way too demure.” [hook] she’s like “uhhh…give it to me!” I’m like dave chappelle, “…naaah…see,” “baby, don’t tease me, like baywatch, on TV, breathe into me deeply,” I said, “maybe I’m just kind of sleepy,” “maybe you’re just gay, if you can’t feel the way my heart is beating!” could’ve made me mad and seething, but I simply snapped her g-string, she was ready for some faster breathing so I had little red, riding wood, weeping, teed-off on g-spots like mtv pop, and shot colors when she rocked my peacock…

miss dramafiend, although I Love you dearly, I can’t accept this logic, with witch, you’re so endearing, how many men do you know would be happy, getting to watch their grrl get fucked up weekly with a guy she wants to call her baby daddy? I’m always there when you’re needing me, but when you’re out with him, hmmm, I keep seeming to see this repeating theme: you get drunk and high with a guy, who spent repeated times, trying to impregnate you in aggressive sexual drive-bys? even after you’ve proclaimed your love for another, he stole it again and again, like bow down to your real lover bitch, and what did that lead to? bullshit stories and the wonderful discovery that controlling men actually makes you horny, and although that was then, and this is now, he was never held accountable, and you were never shown how, so if I want to be your man, I CAN’T! unless I accept the fact that this new rapist will always play a part in your pants! ohhh, right, but he grows the best weed in the world, and tends to his plants with more respect than his so called 
girls, I guess it’s best to forgive and forget, again and again, since you wouldn’t want to wreck his chances of becoming the next Malcolm X, I just don’t understand, why you would ever bother, to honor, a fucked up individual who treats you just as badly as your father had, and I get to hang out, and the drink the bath water, FUN, here let’s toast, to your awe inspiring act that deserves a fucking oscar. you penned a play that was way too see through, how do you think you can lead true, when your fear of abandonment leads you? I still want you to win, but you need him, and want him to need you, too, so pardon me if I don’t play a role in “taming the shrew.” (breakup) how could you say those things? FUCK YOU! no one’s ever been that cold to me. So this is the real you, you’ve been bullshitting me this whole time it’s all been a lie! YOU’RE THE REASON I HATE MY LIFE! I won’t be stepped on by your pair of issues, I’ll Love you forever, and of course I will forever miss you, I know you think you’re the greatest, I would never want to fix you, but sometimes, I feel you’d only Love me if I hit you, it’s like he this hammer, that you’re holding in your hand, and you keep hitting yourself again and again, looking at me like, “can’t you under-stand?” pleading with me to see how much it hurts, how much you hate it, how much you can’t stand to be treated like this, but as soon as I say shit, like: “quit hitting yourself girl, come on, drop that tool,” FUCK YOU—DON’T EVER TELL ME WHAT TO DO! well that was worth it, all the pain in the world is running through your circuits, in a cursed cursive hand written script, where you see yourself as worthless, until you save this victim from his undeserving purpose, and hurt those men who must be trying to coerce you into their circus, to make you dance their dance, and turn you into some sort of servant, IT’S BULLSHIT! I told you this, but I don’t think you ever heard it, so I’ll place my lost love into one last punch worded perfect, you created this bitch of world, girl, you deserve it!

miss dramafiend, although I Love you dearly, I can’t accept this logic, with witch, you’re so endearing, how many men do you know would be happy, getting to watch their grrl get fucked up weekly with a guy she wants to call her baby daddy? I’m always there when you’re needing me, but when you’re out with him, hmmm, I keep seeming to see this repeating theme: you get drunk and high with a guy, who spent repeated times, trying to impregnate you in aggressive sexual drive-bys? even after you’ve proclaimed your love for another, he stole it again and again, like bow down to your real lover bitch, and what did that lead to? bullshit stories and the wonderful discovery that controlling men actually makes you horny, and although that was then, and this is now, he was never held accountable, and you were never shown how, so if I want to be your man, I CAN’T! unless I accept the fact that this new rapist will always play a part in your pants! ohhh, right, but he grows the best weed in the world, and tends to his plants with more respect than his so called 
girls, I guess it’s best to forgive and forget, again and again, since you wouldn’t want to wreck his chances of becoming the next Malcolm X, I just don’t understand, why you would ever bother, to honor, a fucked up individual who treats you just as badly as your father had, and I get to hang out, and the drink the bath water, FUN, here let’s toast, to your awe inspiring act that deserves a fucking oscar. you penned a play that was way too see through, how do you think you can lead true, when your fear of abandonment leads you? I still want you to win, but you need him, and want him to need you, too, so pardon me if I don’t play a role in “taming the shrew.” (breakup) how could you say those things? FUCK YOU! no one’s ever been that cold to me. So this is the real you, you’ve been bullshitting me this whole time it’s all been a lie! YOU’RE THE REASON I HATE MY LIFE! I won’t be stepped on by your pair of issues, I’ll Love you forever, and of course I will forever miss you, I know you think you’re the greatest, I would never want to fix you, but sometimes, I feel you’d only Love me if I hit you, it’s like he this hammer, that you’re holding in your hand, and you keep hitting yourself again and again, looking at me like, “can’t you under-stand?” pleading with me to see how much it hurts, how much you hate it, how much you can’t stand to be treated like this, but as soon as I say shit, like: “quit hitting yourself girl, come on, drop that tool,” FUCK YOU—DON’T EVER TELL ME WHAT TO DO! well that was worth it, all the pain in the world is running through your circuits, in a cursed cursive hand written script, where you see yourself as worthless, until you save this victim from his undeserving purpose, and hurt those men who must be trying to coerce you into their circus, to make you dance their dance, and turn you into some sort of servant, IT’S BULLSHIT! I told you this, but I don’t think you ever heard it, so I’ll place my lost love into one last punch worded perfect, you created this bitch of world, girl, you deserve it!