WhyBitter Thoughts

Keep your producer guessing When you're in the booth confessing And say it was mostly fiction If they ever come to get you Better bet your bottom dollar On the spirit, son, and father That I'll spit and shit and holler, yeah Cause I'm my mother's daughter Be warned, my temper burns Like a ginger-blow pugilist Unconcerned, I never learned to swing elbows Or use my fist Trying to live and let live and focus Invest in problem markets But killer's on a road trip His text says not with carcass From the backs of tent flyers in pen The guilt-racked liar pretends to confess When I was a little fat kid I'd throw fits and punch doors My frame is the same I've just thinned; I want more Down pinned on the floor Trading places with my shadow A pallid sallow corpse for a rising hell to swallow Fully unarmed or armed under the robes with a staff only Or unarmed fully under the robes Through the ribs and inner but But for a bulging lung of poison Poised to voice it's cuts And what's worse, of course The sick and bile-y guts From the backs of tent flyers in pen The guilt-racked liar pretends to confess They asked him whether he was sane And if he'll ever kill again Take half a clever lawyer's brain To link the weapon to the man Bitter thoughts, liver spots Or bash your skull on river rocks Love you lots, signed mom with hearts OXOX on a Hallmark card From the backs of tent flyers in pen The guilt-racked liar pretends to confess
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