I’m being ironic, can’t you tell?

You keep your eyes off

My man

You slut, you whore

You little tramp

I’ve seen the likes of you before

You know they look when you

Drop    your     book

I know that too

That trick you play

When you walk away

I made that shit up        the other day

I see their greedy eyes

On your tan      shaved  thighs

I know the feeling

Of catching them stealing

A         corner glance

At your                         skin      tight      pants

But you can’t play that game with          me

I wrote the rules

You use to tool behind that painted face

And      miniskirt

Who     knows how to  

                        Flirt

You’re still a goddamn fool

            I may have roped him wrong

But he’s holding on

And will never look the other way

Towards sex appeal and           cop      a          feel

Why you let them touch you

Is beyond me

Can’t you see you’re a disgrace?

Who they’ll easily replace

            With     another             pair of

Do you really think that your number in their pocket

Means your name’s gonna

last?

I just had to ask