| if you grew up with white boys | |
| who only look at black and puerto rican porno | |
| cause they want something that their dad don't got | |
| then you know where you're at | |
| mortaring your earholes shut in a rush with wet coke | |
| in a starbucks bathroom with the door closed | |
| on booze, i'm left in residue and confused | |
| like the first time you used soft water | |
| down on my luck, caught unaware | |
| like houdini when the last fist struck | |
| if i'm sinking and laughing at something sunken in, i am | |
| sucking dick for drink tickets | |
| at the free bar at my cousin's bat mitzvah | |
| cutting the punch line and it ain't no joke | |
| devoid of all hope circus mirrors and pot smoke | |
| picking fights on dyke night | |
| with shirlies and lokes and snatching purses | |
| doing out on karaoke and forgetting all the verses | |
| blowing kisses to disinterested bitches | |
| playing lead lay in a bad way on broadway | |
| sending sexy smses to my exes new man cause i can | |
| on the road trying to break an old van | |
| eating pussy for new fangs, i am what the hell | |
| using purell till my hands bleed and swell | |
| missing mail at a motel 6, i'm unwell | |
| if i'm sinking and laughing at something sunken in, i am | |
| it feels exciting touching your handwriting | |
| getting horny by reading it and repeating poor me | |
| intently staring at the picture of your feet on the sticker | |
| at the r. crohn's exhibit, i wonder who's sicker | |
| jerking off in an art museum john till my dick hurts | |
| the kind of shit i won't admit to my head shrinker | |
| not even in a whisper to my own little sister | |
| i just act like a dick and talk shit when i'm with her | |
| aught six i'll say the friday before easter | |
| was not what i cried to myself in the pisser | |
| and with you in the front row at the silver jews show | |
| and you act like you didn't notice, my fear of the bear | |
| at showbiz pizza when i saw six was overwhelming and not dissimilar to this | |
| if i'm sinking and something sunken in, i am | |
| at jacob han's on tour i wake up | |
| hung over on a hardwood floor | |
| from a dream about how your dress | |
| hangs off of your little breasts | |
| i'd rather be dead than call this song | |
| how i lost your respect but god bless or get neglected | |
| and i'll see you when the sun sets east, don't forget me |
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