Gang

Oi, you, fuck you

I don't wanna be in your gang

'Cause I got my own gang and my gang fucking bangs

We are not like you, discarded God's creations

And we do not sell drugs, but we fucking love to take 'em

Call us outspoken, better not seen and never heard

Grazing 'round your park bench on some rare collision of herbs

Draped in Burbs, a leather purse to match the shoes

There ain't no birds in my DMs, just the socks they're Burberry to

Oi, you, fuck you

I don't wanna be in your clique

'Cause I got my own clique and my clique's fucking sick

You are not welcome, wondering guests aren't served

Artois's our worship, best behold our tavern church

Whiskey bottles, tats, and powdered noses

Beauty's skin-deep till you bleed a thousand roses

You should not fear us for love's all we promote

Our lo-fi filters and our self-indulgent posts