i smeared blood on the bottom of your chair;
i wanted your $100 jeans to be dirty

you think you’re a frat boy
i can’t resist

you think our social classes
are in synch

but i like trailer trash boys
who’ve never lived in a house

the ones that keep material items
on credit cards
and keep their money hidden in a closet

i don’t need you to make me rich
and i don’t want you to make me wish

those other boys might never be able to support me,
but their ego’s are not below the belt

i’ll keep my head out of your lap
and you need to keep your eyes
off my lips

can’t buy this pussy
with a few false hopes;

1,000 college degrees
could never afford me.

09/08/2005

Author's Note: you might be related to the boss, but i don't play well with bastards.

Posted on 09/09/2005
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