| Well, mama might’ve said you were one of a kind
|
| But she don’t leave home, and she ain’t done time
|
| Looking at the birds like I do
|
| They all spread their wings just like you
|
| The red carpet comes out when you arrive
|
| The crowd goes wild and you roll your eyes
|
| Life’s hard bein' a lush
|
| You never know you’re takin' too much
|
| You laugh it off when you lose control
|
| Nobody’s born with a trash bag soul
|
| But girl, you make me wonder how long I’ve been under you
|
| You, with your party dress you can’t keep clean
|
| You, with your scepter and your Singapore Sling
|
| Retreat to happy mountains
|
| And run them up and down with the blues
|
| And you won’t catch fire for me
|
| And you don’t like my shitty poetry
|
| You swear that love’s a myth, a sailor’s tale, it’s make-believe
|
| But, Lily Riptide…
|
| Now, mama might’ve said you’re the Venus dream
|
| With your Ivy League top, your amphetamine
|
| And your mountains of designer clothes
|
| And the way that you look down your nose
|
| But who’s gonna give you the time of day
|
| When you’re broke, in the gutter, don’t know your name?
|
| 'Cause good luck wears off, it’s true
|
| And it might just wear off on you
|
| You laugh it off when you get called out
|
| Your real life is slapped into the ground
|
| Now you start to wonder, what’s that flying under you?
|
| It ain’t the carpet or the concrete, girl
|
| But once you thought it was the whole wide world
|
| Once I was a boy passing through
|
| But you still won’t catch fire for me
|
| And you don’t like my shitty poetry
|
| You swear that love’s a myth, a fairy tale, it’s make-believe
|
| But, Lily Riptide…
|
| She’s Lily Riptide
|
| She’s Lily Riptide |