| This one goes out to you so much
|
| And all of the self-medicating
|
| Bones you like to talk about
|
| They’ll talk of social stethoscopes
|
| And the pigments in your eyes
|
| They’ll talk of puke-stained lipstick smears
|
| And your ice cream demise
|
| But you can’t let that bog you down
|
| You can’t just pretend that
|
| Everything will turn around
|
| On fresh-crimped hair you photoshop
|
| Those Woody Allen specs
|
| Won’t you do yourself a favour?
|
| Won’t you do yourself a favour?
|
| Won’t you do yourself a favour?
|
| Won’t you do us all a favour?
|
| I will not take your shit
|
| You skinny cow
|
| So let’s produce a rope
|
| And drag it all out
|
| Let’s retreat to Prague
|
| Drink cider from cans
|
| We can rip on your poor mum
|
| With her poxy mouth
|
| And then maybe you’ll talk
|
| You’ll tell me stupid lies
|
| About all your slut friends
|
| And their interesting lives
|
| And maybe you won’t
|
| Maybe you’ll boke
|
| All over your clothes
|
| And spit from your nose
|
| I tried hard to resist
|
| In letting you know
|
| That your ice cream demise
|
| Was a blessing in disguise
|
| So here’s a few notes
|
| For your ledger, dear:
|
| You’re pretentious as fuck
|
| With motive unclear
|
| So try and try again
|
| And I’ll try and try again
|
| To protect you, dear
|
| So we’ll try and try again
|
| So we’ll try and try again
|
| To forget you, forget you, oh
|
| I think I just came, Elizabeth Smith
|
| I think I just came, Elizabeth Smith
|
| I think I just came, Elizabeth Smith
|
| I think I just came, Elizabeth
|
| Smith, Smith, Smith
|
| Elizabeth Smith, Smith, Smith
|
| Elizabeth Smith, Smith, Smith
|
| Elizabeth Smith, Smith, Smith
|
| Can I have an inch of that?
|
| Can I have an inch of that?
|
| Can I have an inch of that?
|
| Can I have an inch of that?
|
| Can I have an inch of that?
|
| Can I have an inch of that? |