Lyrics
I love the way you took a second look into that book of matches
Stamped with overlapping names and numbers, you mistook for matches
You mistook for matches made in heaven’s workshop
Squatting on that crooked mattress, where you chose to curse god
For the first time, with a dirty slob, with the worst wine aftertaste
He said you did a clerk’s job, while he jerks his and masturbates
Now let that sink in. (Baby, what you been drinking?
Come on, you gotta start thinking.)
You should have known that bastard dates the first mod squad model rep
To cast her mating skills into his fishy bowl of masticating lady thrills
After debating with his trainees, he’ll say something fascinating
Like, «Baby, chill, Kodak moments are fastly fading.»
Then he’ll bravely swill the last of his remaining shady pills
(It's that killed your baby!)
And he said maybe we’ll meet again most likely under the sheets
And then we’ll host a nightly hunter meets the hunted
And then he cheats again, and your family trees bend over to lend a hand
You’ve never been a fan of being a charity case; you don’t want no minute man
(What?)
But you want his burial place
If life gives you sour grapes, then make cheap wine
Now how’s that parody taste?
It’s guaranteed to make of a daring team with a therapy face
Play 'Eternal Flame' on repeat until their stereo breaks
Her posture was that of Marilyn Monroe
Standing above a street vent, (Happy birthday, Mr. President)
Except she wasn’t smiling, no white dresses. (Not impressive)
She cradled her stomach, and I could tell she was in pain
She grabbed for those matches, (Can we talk?)
And I wanted to stop her, but she was
She said don’t bother me; I’ll lose the truth
As the man who fathered me blew it
Walking me through his two-fisted trail of fallen trees
Until I’m probably toothless
Besides you’re just a primate and talking to me is useless
I said you’re not biting; you’re barking and it’s music to my ears
(I don’t want to admit it You don’t know me!
You don’t know what I did! How am I to get around?
I used to be the shit)
I tore the wiring from her forklift
She dropped dead gorgeous in her four seasons porch
With her lips pressed against the cordless phone
It was off the hook, you get it?
(Yeah, haha-- That’s funny shit-- Is that a joke? Yeah, yeah.)
They call this girl but-her-nose, everything looks good
But her nose is filled with coke, she just won’t admit it
(Hahaha. Get it? Yeah, yup. That’s like fucking -- yes, I do get it.
Good, that’s good.)
You struck a hand full of matches at the same time
And couldn’t figure out which stick to draw first
Each one got a little closer to you and it hurts now
Since that draft pick got worse
You got the first degree from each one at the same time
They want the news and the weather
Instead you led them down the date line
And now your sticky fingers fuse together
Back in the days when she was a teenager
Before she struck those matches and before she went through labor
You could find this underager double fistin' Mother Nature
Moms used to say it reminded her of her
Savior
If it hadn’t been for that, you know, volley of ideas
And sometimes butting of heads together
It wouldn’t have come out as good as it did
Because it builds up anger actually
And you--
You get more out of yourself
And he knew that
And he knew he was getting more out of me by doing that
So it was sort of like a game--
