If you asked me to give you the picture
I couldn’t even paint her
This girl’s got me on retainer
Her purse is full of my pastels and pens, and I don’t quite consider myself an entertainer
And every stroke of my tongue comes out as a castrated slur
Yet on my way to hers
I trample through a trail covered in burs
They are stuck on me, but I am undoubtedly stuck on her