Why are we still sneaking behind the backs of people we don't love anymore?
We don't love 'em anymore.
Because I am so sick of living in a bone dry marriage,
I don't even know what the fuck I'm even thing anymore,
my kids a fucking pervert he smears cum on the computer desk.
My husband, a money grubbing pill eating cheat,
but I can't say I don't pop 'em too though.
When I feel fuckin sick.
I feel fuckin sick.
Now that my gardens dried up,
what do I have to life for?
Where is the man of my dreams?
Where's the cornucopia feast?
And cherry red convertible.
I won't ride the wings of my cockroach mother,
I'm too young to die inside
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