Soul - stop the car, please.
I got a sweeney todd lookin teeny bop with sharp teeth
bitin my neck as I try not to step on her large feet
she wants to head home but can't find her car keys
asks me to wait for her while she talks to the barkeep
harsh weeks remedied by bacardi got me
understanding why george harrissons guitar weeps
see the stars peek through as I finish my drink beneath the marquis
and catch the back of a redhead vanishing down a dark street
switch focus to the teeny bop while memories bombard me
and I see a similar leather jacket as HERS lyin there on the car seat
feels like she's within arms reach... don't know if it's motion sickness
or woes pricklin but I'm in no condition, stop the car, please...
don't barf, breathe.. breathe while your heart bleeds
from the wound that has yet to become a scar, gees...
where are we...? far away but not far enough
cus I'd still trade her for her in a heartbeat.
let me know.
life is still a bitch....
but sometimes to unwind she lets me feel her tits.
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