Come on, you’ve had quite enough, doll,
these glasses are already in the washer,
the wine is locked up in that cellar again,
and you gotta move your rump along too,
now call a damn cab before you’re walking.
Listen close, I just done told you the rules,
so that means they haven’t changed since,
I ain’t here for your entertainment anymore,
there’s no way in hell I’m giving you control,
because when it ain’t right, one gets to decide.
That’s the breaks when there’s two involved,
you can hurt me the next time if I will allow it,
probably not once my shield remains on guard,
holding firmly together what I still want to value,
far away from your measly yet expensive whims.
No, it was turned to simmer, now it’s shut off,
seems unfair maybe, but we ain’t a democracy,
put on another tight child’s sweater if you’re cold,
at your home of course and care to dress warmer,
learn to not take either of us for granted as well.
Obviously you ain’t hearing anyone today also,
we ain’t talking that complicated to follow here,
except this ain’t the point when it’s our content,
against your fragile obsession to be spontaneous,
without plans to clean the messes this demands.
Somehow remember these nights you’re left alone,
dropped inconveniently harsh as you ain’t looking,
to shamelessly claim there was never a warning,
‘Aw, officer, I wasn’t speeding, you womanizer,’
sentencing yourself to solitary confinement for life.
Sharwrong's Song 