The bar tenders keeps paying for my drinks
As I sit on the stool and babble about how I think
Too much for a conquered respect.
It’s that men don’t see me as a conquest.
But gin and soda, gin and soda.
You is fucked up on muh words.
You like to hear dis bad bird
When she spit the shit that makes your spine turned into a slithered snake.
I can’t breathe because I can’t take
A memory that I forgot I made.
How did I end up in the dream town
With these ever flowing humans that I like to observe but never know.
I’m a drunkard who slimes their eyes over the flow.
But I ain’t in this world.
I’m too fast, I’m too slow.
Smoking cigarettes on the fire escape that encapsulates East Village.
No one looks up because they don’t know you’re naked and straddling the people who don’t deserve it, anyway.
But I’ve got my guitar while I sit and lean on these metal stairs.
They only look up when I sing loud enough to echo.
What is going on.
It’s going on.
I sing you the blues
Whether I’m feeling right or wrong.