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, hm, yeah

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, oh, yeah

Enough about me now
"You gotta talk about the people, baby"
(But that's kind of the idea)

At home, somewhere I don't like
Eating stuff off of motorbikes
Cumming 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, oh, yeah

A 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
(Like advertising cigarettes)
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