She was part of the Air Force
I was part of the band
I always used to bust into her hand
In my, my, my imagination
I was living my best life
Living with my parents
Way before the paying penance and verbal propellants
And my, my, my cancellation

And I fell in love with a boy
It was kinda lame
I was Rimbaud and he was Paul Verlaine
In my, my, my imagination
So many cringes and heroin binges
I was coming off the hinges
Living on the fringes of my, my, my imagination

Enough about me now
You gotta talk about the people, baby
(But that's kind of the idea)

At home, somewhere I don’t like
Eating stuff off of motorbikes
Coming to her lookalikes
I can’t get the language right
Just tell me what’s unladylike

I know some Vaccinista tote bag chic baristas
Sitting in East on their communista keisters
Writing about their ejaculations
I like my men like I like my coffee
Full of soy milk and so sweet, it won't offend anybody
Whilst staining the pages of the nation

A Xanax and a Newport
I take care of my kids, she said

The worst inside of us begets
That feeling on the internet
It's like someone intended it
(Like advertising cigarettes)
A diamond in the rough begets
The diamond with a scruff you get

Am I ironically woke?
The butt of my joke?
Or am I just some post-coke, average, skinny bloke
Calling his ego imagination?
I've not picked up that in a thousand four hundred days
And nine hours and sixteen minutes, babe
It's kind of my daily iteration