You don't think I'm sick of this nasty
tasting place
With all the hustle and bustle, full of
pointless waste of empty space
Not one familiar face in this town of
go get'rs, and newspaper ******'s
Not one spot to sit, possibly
soak up some sun
Take My daughter out where,
to a park full of bums
So run, go hide, blame me for the ride
Just remember that blame only kills
me inside
No freeway no exit no stopping this
rush
Remember, it's Me-Your Everything
Not some freaking skezzer, or crazy
*** crush
Just for the record or note to
Myself.....
I hate the taste of my own disgrace
as I taste those nasty tears running
down my face
Don't forget, you to
Have been in my place