Malaprops

Oh I just love the kind of woman who can walk over a man

I mean like a goddamn marching band

She says like literally music is the air she breathes

And the malaprops make me wanna fucking scream

I wonder if she even knows what that word means

Well it’s literally not that

Of the few main things I hate about her

One’s her petty vogue ideas

Someone’s been told too many times they’re beyond their years

By every half-wit of distinction she keeps around

And now every insufferable convo

Features her patiently explaining the cosmos

Of which she is in the middle

Oh my god I swear this never happens

Lately I can’t stop the wheels from spinning

I feel so unconvincing

When I fumble with your buttons

She blames her excess on my influence

But gladly hoovers all my drugs

I found her naked with her best friend in the tub

And we sang Silent Night in three parts which was fun

Until she said that she sounds just like Sarah Vaughan

I hate that soulful affectation white girls put on

Why don’t you move to the delta

I obliged later on when you begged me to choke you