by Baby Jayne



released November 29, 2014



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Baby Jayne Sterling, Illinois

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Track Name: Succubus
"i walk up in the party like, congrats on your divorce /
you've lost a ton of weight, i could eat you with a fork /
you look so good, i'd even share my blanket fort /
mouth still writing checks my ass cannot afford /
half adored, half detested + denounced /
but somehow i always end up in your house /
with your hands all in my blouse, + my hairs all in your grout /
i'm under your skin, you cannot scrub me out, you love me now /
what a silly thing for you to do /
i'm a pretty thing, unusual /
fun, beautiful - your compliments are so common /
i'm not confused, i'm in a mood /
i am tattooed like a convict /
you wanted a bad girl? you've got it /
i can stop your heart, i can make it beat quicker /
i am the poison + the elixir, go figure /
no bitterness here, baby, face the bitch in the mirror, baby /
i am not two-faced behind your back, i will switch while you're here, baby /
fix up your sneer, baby, who told you to trust me? /
i am your favorite childhood toy - broken but lovely /
losing my stuffing, spilling your guts over the kitchen sink /
i mean more to you than you to me, gone in an instant, dare you to blink /
dare you to think i am not, everything you think i'm not /
i probably am, i'm possibly damned /
groggy + slamming this cabernet /
best sex i have had in a day, bad habits - can't put 'em away /
my love is a kick in the teeth, a beautifully booted foot in your face /
i told you not to like me, though i was sure you would /
like, c'mon, baby, make it, make it hurt so good /
sometimes love doesn't feel like a punishment /
embrace every feeling (you're) confronted with /
play with fire + you run the risk /
of living a cliché /
don't just lie in it, die in the bed that we've made /
save your candy-coated kiss of death /
you begged me to be this direct /
these tears are queer, they misdirect /
i promise i'm worse than i seem /
you vomited, purged all your dreams /
worship the queen, worship the queen, worship the queen /
worship the queen, grovel in my presence /
your object of affection, my novel little peasant /
i treated you like a servant /
defeated, you thought you deserved it /
retreated, + hauled off your purpose /
all of this for a pithy wordsmith? /
yeah, i sure paint a picture vividly /
still making masterpieces of your misery /
but things change /
now my skin is draped in violet /
i've no skill for taking all this violence /
world's tiniest violin plays for you /
my pain is new in our game for two /
a last Tango in Paris /
a mass grave gifted from Eros /
they say we only hurt the ones we love /
i was a lonely bucket of blood /
stuck in the flood of all these tears /
busted ribs + borrowed years /
far be it from me to not take your lashes /
ripped my flesh + licked the gashes /
a woman scorned, i burnt to ashes /
words were weapons, turned you batshit /
i stole your heart, you took my breath away /
for good, nothing left to say /
you felt for a pulse, + were right to check /
then went + turned the gun on yourself /
'cause life without me isn't life, it's death /
life without me isn't life, it's death"
Track Name: Way Out (featuring MidiEvil)
Verse one:
Sick of drowning, I'm ready to stand /
But so anxious, I cannot steady my hand /
A bevy of plans that may never come to fruition /
No matter the Our Fathers or Acts of Contrition /
I'm back on a mission until I'm packed in a prison /
Or masked in a prism, I am fact, you're derision /
No life coach or guru, just compassionate wisdom /
Life-giving + death-dealing /
Grim Reaper with the eye of Horus /
Feared, for sure, but our peers do adore us /
The dollar's in the details, the devil will whore us /
+ all the little hipsters will claim they abhor us now /
Resounding chorus now, you were deeper when depressed /
They loved me when I loathed me, feed on my stress /
Heart beats in my breast, yes, my moves are rash /
But I'll continue to make art like an organized car crash

Verse two:
I try to hold my tongue, but it's slippery /
I beat a dead horse only 'cause it stays kicking me /
Old ghosts haunt from a new grave /
Living in a fallen house + my bed's made /
This is glorious defeat, I'm a beautiful loser /
It'll be splinters + sutures before a suitable suitor /
The servant girl doesn't get the prince /
She gets identified with dental records + finger prints /
We all have our ways out, how we choose to cope /
Get high on marijuana, facebook, or hope /
Pray to the sky until the day that we die /
That's not a needle in his arm, he is saying goodbye /
There's graves in his eyes, torturous tombstones /
Some pretty poetry in those bruised bones /
The privilege of a pedestal can be all-consuming /
Heroes don't exist, we are all too human
Track Name: Fair? Well... Minnesota.
"Can you tell me why I'm feeling so blue? /
Rocking crowds that Minnesota hue - you know, so white that they're see through /
Why does my heart feel so heavy? Where does my art get me /
But closer to debt and hoping for death? /
Dose of the cess? Nah, sober as my heroes never were /
Art is not the antidote, antihero's never cured /
Never better? Sure, swallow everything you sell me, bluffing /
Half-homeless, motherfuckers, you can't tell me nothing /
Ego is on Kanye, eat you like an entree /
You flexing like a Big Boi? Don't make me come and Andre your career /
3,000 light years ahead of the pack but /
Tired of staring at my competitors backs /
Ain't no Minnesota nice, convinced Minnesota's trife /
And that's word to that Minnesota knife in my back /
But I came right on a track, now they don't wanna let me go /
Feeling like it's a trap - petty, bro - let me know /
What you can do for me but ride me like a racehorse /
Work me like a slave, like we aren't on the same course /
To relative obscurity, it has just occurred to me /
As I'm writing down these lyrics so furiously, you're not even bothered /
'cause I'm not a toddler, not a child prodigy /
Just a middle-aged Jack of all trades, a wild oddity /
Keep singing LA-DA-DIs, like you are so deep /
[I'm] swinging crockery, put concrete shoes on your feet /
Now you're in shit's creek with no paddle to speak of /
Sweet smell of success, that's what I reek of /
All you small-hearted cynics, hold onto your B-cups /
Dolemite threw the beat up, now my flow's swollen like it's beat up /
Til we meet up again, I love you, Minnesota /
But I must stay an artist, I won't ever be a quota /
Lames take this as written, peace to my sisters and brothers /
Game's full of children, pardon me for being a mother"