queef

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» today's position in sub-genre: # 808 in Experimental

The lyrics are based on snobby local musicians and their counterpart groupie girlfriends.

I'm so f***in cool I'm dead, i guess you haven't picked up on all the clues that I left
I'm in your red light district struttin my stuff
You say you're eighteen, I don't think you're eighteen enough
I got the whole black market hiding under my dress
a name you can't put your finger on but still you can guess
another bleach blonde hairstyle, totally obsessed
about her social reflex and tinsletown rejects

I'm so f***in cool I'm dead, another tongue in your mouth for all the sh*** that you said
you got your scene points, fake clique, struttin your stuff
but your big dick mouthwash isn't enough
you got the whole scene believing that you're just like them
you stick yourself with pins and needles cuz it makes you friends
why don't we stop with all the laughing and we'll just pretend
that we're not social rejects, push that button, eject
they have no mercy
this is your last chance
i think i think i've had enough
off with your head
you're always kissing ass
off with your head