The Night Josh Tillman Came to Our Apt.

Oh, I just love the kind of woman who can walk over a man And I mean like a god damn marching band She says, like, literally, music is the air she breathes And the malaprops make me want to fucking scream I wonder if she even knows what that word means Well, it's literally not that Of the few main things I hate about her One's her petty, vogue ideas Someone's been told too many times they're beyond their years By every half-wit of distinction she keeps around And now every insufferable convo Features her patiently explaining the cosmos Of which she's in the middle Oh my God, I swear this never happens Lately, I can't stop the wheels from spinnin' I feel so unconvincin' And I fumbled with the buttons She blames her excess on my influence But gladly hoovers all my drugs I found her naked with the best friend in the tub We sang "Silent Night" in three parts, which was fun 'Til she said that she sounds just like Sarah Vaughan I hate that soulful affectation white girls put on Why don't you move to the Delta? I obliged later on when you begged me to choke ya