| Well, you’re traipsing up and down my backyard.
|
| Guess you caught a duck,
|
| Digging through my trashcans
|
| With that white rope tied around your neck.
|
| You mistake me for some Southern goddess,
|
| Some Delta girl done wrong,
|
| But I’m fixin' to knock through whatever I have to
|
| To stay silent and get gone.
|
| One, two, three.
|
| I hate me.
|
| There’s no one else who I know how to be.
|
| Four, five, six.
|
| Oh, your body makes me sick,
|
| But don’t take it away from me just yet.
|
| There’s no one I can think of
|
| That I can stand less than you.
|
| Don’t you want to touch my hands before you go?
|
| I think I’m confused.
|
| I can feel my food digesting,
|
| And I’m begging it to cease.
|
| Oh, my stomach’s crushed against my lungs
|
| And — yeah, oh yeah — oh, pushing at my seams,
|
| But I see the way you eye me up
|
| Like a chunk of meat, like a chunk of meat gone bad,
|
| Like you’re wishing I was something still worth having.
|
| You can go ahead, go ahead and have.
|
| One, two, three.
|
| I still hate me.
|
| There’s no one else who I know how to be.
|
| Four, five, six.
|
| Oh, your body makes me sick.
|
| Don’t take it away from me just yet.
|
| There’s no I can think of
|
| That I can stand less than you.
|
| Don’t you want to touch my hand before you go?
|
| I think I’m confused. |