Life ain't easy on the upper west side Art openings, limos, wine and cheese, bitch please My socialite girlfriend is constantly bitching for cash
But I'd spend it all for that gorgeous pink gash She only cares about fashion trends but when I knocked her up She feared her posh existence would end
Seven months pregnant, she pummeled her womb With Apple-tini's and blow till our baby went boom. Our private doctor said it was prenatal child abuse So I showed him my steel, since his services were no longer of use
God, she loved our dead kin's supple skin, and damn she needed a new purse So she flayed off its skin, let the sewing begin; I guess I can cancel that hearse.
Infant leather made one hell of a bag And soon my bitch's purse was in high demand. Cityscapes full of cosmetic surgery-ruined whores Were now flaunting my child's remnants down the runway floors
Bitches spending all their cash on dead infant handbags Every four months my girlfriend was self-aborting our lineage Pumping herself with fertility drugs and snow had really begun to take its toll The day I found her dead, an idea popped into my head: Human leather high heels, the most luscious pairs For the highest bidding NYC cunt millionairesTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
