I don't like talking about love a lot, but... I been in love a lot
Been on bathroom floors talking to the bottom slat
Of a wooden door after I been slugging Schnapps, like
"I met a lady and she sounds like butterscotch."
Keeps nothing locked, secret kinda lover's rock
In the shade of her grace, swear the sun'll rot
And the moon'll play her birthday at the numbers spot
Cuz her vanity's my Apollonia, crying dove or not
Tell NOLA she could make the bayou pin a hurricane
Tell the world she could make Atlas give the earth away
She's the best way to go bad.
Her handwriting would look so pretty on my toe tag
She makes my name ache, and my voice die
She makes my lips move, and my pulse sigh
Her palm reads, "Loving me is a field of broken glass."
I wanna run a forty-yard dash
Do I love her? Do I? Do I not?
(But of course... yahmean... but of course... yahmean)
Simp simp simp simp simp
Simp simp simp, simp simp simp simp simp simp simp
Love song twenty-eight. Voodoo potion number forty-nine
Got me drunk and picking forbidden knowledge off the vine
Tryna get even, but ain't no country for Eden
So when her eyes fell apart on my chest, I was dreaming of leaving
She a light sleeper. My feet are heavy thunder
I'm fawnin' in the wrong places. She a steady hunter
I got hands like I'm nervin and she got hands like a surgeon
I got blood like a wafer. She got me looking for her in churches
The father and the son. Spirit unholied in her name
When I'm happy, she prototype. When I'm mad, she one in the same
But turn my heart to stone? Simps never have that option
Leave her all alone? Pimps never have that problem
I see art in her flaws, she see me shapeless in cheap clothes
And try her hand at sculpting marble from both of my cheekbones
But ain't my face a painting? Ain't anger better than love?
Ain't addiction crazy? Ain't she a helluva drug?