Bitter Thoughts

Keep your producer guessing

When you're in the booth confessing

And say it was mostly fiction

If they ever come to get you

Better bet your bottom dollar

On the spirit, son, and father

That I'll spit and shit and holler, yeah

Cause I'm my mother's daughter

Be warned, my temper burns

Like a ginger-blow pugilist

Unconcerned, I never learned to swing elbows

Or use my fist

Trying to live and let live and focus

Invest in problem markets

But killer's on a road trip

His text says not with carcass

From the backs of tent flyers in pen

The guilt-racked liar pretends to confess

When I was a little fat kid

I'd throw fits and punch doors

My frame is the same

I've just thinned; I want more

Down pinned on the floor

Trading places with my shadow

A pallid sallow corpse for a rising hell to swallow

Fully unarmed or armed under the robes with a staff only

Or unarmed fully under the robes

Through the ribs and inner but

But for a bulging lung of poison

Poised to voice it's cuts

And what's worse, of course

The sick and bile-y guts

From the backs of tent flyers in pen

The guilt-racked liar pretends to confess

They asked him whether he was sane

And if he'll ever kill again

Take half a clever lawyer's brain

To link the weapon to the man

Bitter thoughts, liver spots

Or bash your skull on river rocks

Love you lots, signed mom with hearts

OXOX on a Hallmark card

From the backs of tent flyers in pen

The guilt-racked liar pretends to confess