please don't swing your bad luck on me. like hell in a hole, i'm stuck in this curse anatomy. is it safe to always have the upper hand? when i've rearranged the sneakers on your back porch, and stolen back all of those fine times that you tore right out of me. so please don't laugh. i know it's hard to keep a straight face, when you all but done and did what was supposed to be all a fake. but is it safe to always be the chosen few? when your invitations screaming this is all i do. and waiting for that last call to know it's all through. it's the slang of the city- much more then you could understand. it's the slang of the city-and it translates to what i'm fighting for.
Lyrics submitted by imperfect_offering