swimming upstream,
|
young men and women are fiending for
|
immediate intimacy with no limitiations.
|
alas, the skirts don't hide the shadows
|
cast by the bare ass on the dancefloor.
|
sexual warfare waits in the staircase
|
and therefore most of them probably
|
shouldn't even really be there in the first place.
|
unarmed soldiers of lust rub shoulders
|
with those older and more immature than them,
|
it's disgusting, yet intruiging to see
|
overachieving greasers unleashing themselves
|
upon the female species,
|
especially when the weather gets warmer and then
|
the whole entire wardrobe is normally informal.
|
for your information, the hats are worn backwards
|
and so are the morals when the girls wear overalls.
|
it's a sensitive issue involving insecurity
|
maturity levels, and lots of toilet tissue 'cause...
|
|
the girls are desperate,
|
but the boys are even hornier,
|
the rose smells sweet
|
but the stem is even thornier.
|
it's a match made in purgatory,
|
what more do you want to know?
|
http://www.free-lyrics.org/Buck-65/46121-Square-Two.html
|
|
the girls get goosebumps and nipples to notice but
|
no one knows how to communicate it's useless when
|
lies are told with closed eyes and
|
everybody tries to disguise their own flaws when the guys go,
|
"we need females and we read details."
|
it's card tricks and hard dicks
|
and a beat that goes like "uh uh uh yeah, uh huh uh uh yeah."
|
the neat part of the meat market apart from the
|
darkness and lots of narcotics to me is the hard rocks,
|
no one needs to be told twice, there's plenty of cold ice,
|
just tight pants and old spice who take shots and roll dice.
|
the carpets are crumby with puke coming out of them.
|
it's putrid and stupid
|
why don't you make a contribution
|
to the plan-gathering, as a matter fact, word
|
what do you say, this thursday, or saturday, you thirsty?
|
|
the girls are desperate,
|
but the boys are even hornier.
|
the rose smells sweet
|
but the stem is even thornier.
|
it's a match made in purgatory,
|
what more do you want to know?
|
|
it smells like everything inside of the hideout
|
but i doubt anyone really wants to know why,
|
oh my, goodness gracious, the place is basically bulging
|
with people indulging in, all kinds of fabric,
|
it's a magical buffet of pheromones and flesh
|
that defies all logic.
|
it's just like dodgeball, but instead of a ball
|
the contestants throw around the head of a doll
|
and i don't know what it means,
|
but it makes it worth the cost alone,
|
even with the overflowing load of testosterone.
|
the sexual appetites are salty, it's a circus,
|
the circuits are faulty, and everybody's uptight
|
with sweat stains and jet planes and hot rod love songs,
|
blistering kisses for every mister and misses,
|
in the same of time it takes for you to make a sandwich, love,
|
you can probably find someone for you to take advantage of.
|
|
'cause the girls are desperate,
|
but the boys are even hornier.
|
the rose smells sweet
|
but the stem is even thornier.
|
it's a match made in purgatory,
|
what more do you want to know?
|
|
-----------------
|
Square Two
|
| Buck 65 |
