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singles.

by Baby Jayne

/
1.
Succubus 04:16
"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"
2.
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
3.
"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"

credits

released November 29, 2014

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Baby Jayne Sterling, Illinois

Visual art + raps. Fat jokes. Nintendo. Hugs. Booty. Your Dad. That's about it.

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