at the bar.
I drink down what I'm bottling up,
nonchalant vodka fiend, shots bottomed, "and what?!"
Mood calm, hot as steam inside, but, "I don't give a fuck"s
Get cheers around the room like this mantra is fun...
She won't let me. I hurt. She left me.
Every night she's out, these vows im regretting.
So I creep... hypothetically. TLC's way ahead of me...
But I drink, cuz at least she can't point fingers to get at me.
But fuck it right? There's a few bitches in this bar I could lawyer,
Handle their case, put em on my stand, enjoy the
Curvature of their bodies while I get tsunami'd like japan.
I don't know... but that alone is the notion I can't stand.
If she would just let me know, I'd know, then I'd stop the nightly reprimands.
The caring through swearing, playing with the contents of my pants,
And finally get a piece of strange... maybe from this one bitch off instagram...
Wait... I'm getting a call, "hello?"
"Hey, this is Malcom. Is this xxxxxxx's man?"
That fucking bitch.
__________________
Ahem.
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