J.A. Woolf is a graduate creative writing major at Southern New Hampshire University
Slit my wrists and call me honey I ain’t your juke box junkie Fly your wares in the face of lame Do you really think I want to play your game
Send me flying down the long-haul road No dead-end signs bother me son I have a pistol that sleeps with a gun Serving up cynics and I’m on the run with cat got your tongue
Slit my wrists and call me honey I ain’t your juke box junkie Fly your wares in the face of lame Do you really think I want to play your game
The Diner light never fades even when my roots start to show I’m up at dark and down at dawn with your shame under my thumb Living wherever the best dust may blow never checkin the clock One light towns flash on by as I laugh while stealin your heart
Slit my wrists and call me honey I ain’t your juke box junkie Fly your wares in the face of lame Do you really think I want to play your game
Show me some thigh and grit your teeth Life’s not a purty thing that smiles at you high A smack here and there some say I deserve it Punches thrown back and don’t you forget
Slit my wrists and call me honey I ain’t your juke box junkie Fly your wares in the face of lame Do you really think I want to play your game
Time to shove out and back on the road Your shit does stink and I’ve gotta go Trails of memories smeared lipstick wrong Josie doesn’t stick around, not for anyone son
Slit my wrists and call me honey I ain’t your juke box junkie Fly your wares in the face of lame Do you really think I want to play your game
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