I’ve developed this knack for leavin’ bite marks on bare shoulders.
Maybe it’s the imperialism I’ve got runnin’ through my veins,
But I want the world to know where I’ve been.
‘Course, I ain’t against them knowin’ your trail either.
‘Course, you know that;
we’ve been sendin’ explicit emails back ‘n forth,
‘n back again.
givin’ the folks skimmin’ our emails a right eyeful.
I know I went ‘n surprised you, bein’ honest as I was–
’bout how we met.
I was horny, ‘n I thought you were pretty,
was enough to get me talkin’.
But, you, you know that.
You
seem
to
know
lots,
in a life’s-been-handed-hard sorta way.
Ain’t no offense to you when I say this,
–you’ve probably got your own way of sayin’ it,
but that’s the sort I seem most attracted to,
‘n the thing ’bout folks who think they may be broken;
they think they may be broken.
They got no need for happy endin’s;
Don’t feel like they deserve ’em.
Now, maybe you don’t think that way,
but by now you must of figured this ain’t really for you.
I’m just usin’ you as an example to illustrate the less than appealin’,
–bits of me, that is, or some of ’em at least.
I’ve developed this knack for leavin’ bite marks on bare shoulders,
’cause I ain’t plannin’ on bein’ around for folks to see,
‘n it’s only fair that they know you had a good time.
It ain’t that I don’t respect you,
but women ain’t the only ones that get to feelin’ like they don’t deserve,
‘n I ain’t stickin’ ’round to be proven wrong.
I’m stubborn,
like the would-be-mother of our would-be-son always said,
“you’ve always got to be right.”
Always
ever ‘n ever.
Ain’t no gray area there.
