The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apartment

Oh, I just love the kind of woman

Who can walk over a man

I mean like a God damn marching band

She says, like, literally

Music is the air she breathes

And the malaprops make me want to 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's in the middle

Oh, my God

I swear this never happens

Lately, I can't stop the wheels from spinning

I feel so unconvincing

And I fumbled with the buttons

She blames her excess on my influence

But gladly hoovers all my drugs

I found her naked with the best friend in the tub

We sang "Silent Night" in three parts which was fun

Til she said that she sounds just like Sarah Vaughan

I hate that soulful levitation white girls put on

Why don't you move to the Delta?

I obliged later on when you begged me to choke ya