Part of the Band

She was part of the air force

I was part of the band

I always used to bust into her hand

In my, my, my imagination

I was living my best life

Living with my parents

Way before the paying penance and verbal propellants

And my, my, my cancellations

And I fell in love with a boy

It was kinda lame

I was Rimbaud and he was Paul Verlaine

In my, my, my imagination

So many cringes in the heroin binges

I was coming off the hinges

Living on the fringes of my, my, my imagination

Enough about me now

You gotta talk about the people, baby

At home, somewhere I don't like

Eating stuff off of motorbikes

Coming to her lookalikes

I can't get the language right

Just tell me what's unladylike

I know some "Vaccinista tote-bag-chic baristas"

Sitting east on their communista keisters

Writing about their ejaculations

I like my men like I like my coffee

Full of soy milk and so sweet, it won't offend anybody whilst

Staining the pages of the nation

Xanax and a Newport

"Well, I take care of my kids", she said

The worst inside of us begets

That feeling on the internet

It's like someone intended it

A diamond in the rough begets

The diamond with a scruff you get

Am I ironically woke? The butt of my joke?

Or am I just some post-coke, average, skinny bloke

Calling his ego imagination?

I've not picked up that in a thousand-four hundred days and nine hours and sixteen minutes, babe

It's kind of my daily iteration