Sometimes I want to pour whiskey all down my front, soaking my tank top,
already too thin. I’d do it so everyone could smell that awful stench I have
to take in nightly, just to make my eyes close. I’d like to take off my tank
top and strangle you with it, so you can feel my pain, and stop denying the
hurt that’s been there all along.

Some fools just don’t see it coming, but whether it a bullet through the
head, or a wet shirt around their throat, they all get what’s coming to ‘um.


I’d dress you in my clothes, as soaked in alcohol as my insides are, and
stand before you exposed, so you could see every flaw, and for once, we
could relate, both outcasted in society by our alcohol induced stench.
Sometimes I want to do that. Sometimes I want to hurt you, show you who you
really are inside, then show you what you’ve done to me.

Some fools just don’t see it coming, but whether it a bullet through the
head, or a wet shirt around their throat, they all get what’s coming to ‘um.


Sometimes I want to expose myself to my walls, those laughing walls that
mock every curve of my body. I want to peel down the wallpaper with my bare
hands, so there’s nothing left to laugh at me, but there’d still be you.
And that just won’t do.

Some fools just don’t see it coming, but whether it a bullet through the
head, or a wet shirt around their throat, they all get what’s coming to ‘um.


And as far as I’m concerned, this is self-defense. I won’t have you beat me
down inside. I won’t have you abuse me silently; invisibly. I’ll finally
protect myself from your harmful stare. Yeah, as far as I’m concerned, this
is self-defense.

Some fools just don’t see it coming, but whether it a bullet through the
head, or a wet shirt around their throat, they all get what’s coming to ‘um.


And I’d never thought I’d lose it
Maybe Jack Daniel’s to blame
But after this night, yours and my
Bodies won’t be the same

Before you die, I’ll say for once
All those words I should have said
So here I am, with my guard off
Talking, with a gun up to your head

My body and mind have been exposed
Now what have you got to say?
You’re too proud to apologize
Even on your death day

Fuck you, your controlling bastard
You don’t own me anymore
You won’t be able to tell me what to do
With your blood spilt on the floor

Some fools just don’t see it coming
And a bullet’s less work than a shirt
So say goodbye to life, and hello to my gun
And goddammit, I hope it hurts.

I tried to tell you it was coming, but once again you forbade me to speak,
but it’s ok, because in the end, every floor gets what’s coming to him.
 
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