The
hell it takes a while
My,
my psychotic lover
Shiny
gadgets on the floor
That
we
We
call your mother
And
he’s crackin’ on the floor
Every
summer by summer
And
they tell us he’s a goner
Wait,
excuse me
I
mean gunner
And
he’s crackin’ like a temper
Rib
by rib to 45s
Working
two days of the week
Bombing windows on the side
And
he’s B.A. as a D goes Jaying at the club
And
he calls me on the weekend
Looking
for some love, I mean
But
not like all those strippers
Ya,
that we know
That
poker for some stripping
Down
at the casino
And
it kills me every time that I look him in the eye
Cuz
I know that he is straight up drowning in the lie
That
says “you’ll never be a boss
Ya
you’ll never be at all,
You
perfect little bullet that’s been drilling at my skull!
You’ll
never be worth shit
No
you’ll never be enough!”
But
I know that he’s my perfect little diamond in the rough
