Look, look 
This is her tray, her tray of ash 
These here... They're her empty bottles of Jack 
Over there is where she keeps the condoms.
Stash of **** between the books. 
If you look closely at the carpet you can see dried *****. 
White walls are now stained yellow, 
Too many drunken gatherings. 
But she's so young inside. 
Mind of a ten year old
With a body of a sixteen yer old woman. 
Don't look now, but she's preparing herself to talk
In her ditsy fake tone. 
"I am like, so white trash. Do you love me yet?"
Twirling bleached blonde hair
pouting those lipstick drowned
And collogen inflamed lips. 
Seeing this ***** in her natural habitat
Makes me wonder where her parents went wrong.