November 19, 2007
By Megan Vance, Clarkston, MI

Hello Mr. “Gods gift to women”
Even if there were one, it’d never be him an
He still walks around like “oh I've got it”
As he flexes his muscles and takes another hit.

Shoots a wink my way and calls me sugar
tell him it better not be MY way he’s lookin
And if he calls me baby just ONE more time
I’m afraid I’m going to have to put his butt in line

Cuz he’s the last thing I need
Some drugged out Romeo wanna-be
Who can’t live without a compact mirror
Always checks her out but never really sees her

Thinks he’s everything she needs, always will and always has
Still can’t seem to see that nice guys don’t finish last
And that maybe, just maybe women don’t like being pets
Or trophy wives gathering dust as his promiscuity gets
Him in just a bit deeper, into this tangled web
Of lies and lust, and cries and cuts
And he still won’t let it end.

So Mr. Cocky, shallow,
Never met a guy so hallow,
Empty from any source of sense,
Weighed down by an excess of confidence,
Disaster, crashing down faster,
Till he’s out of pick up lines to ask her,
And money to send her shots down the bar,
If she’s smart she’ll getting far
-ther away, the biggest distance she can,
cause there isn’t any need for that kind of man

Life’s full of complications, who needs more?
The further you get in, the harder it is to shut that door
In his face, shot down, you have to let him know,
That he’s not the only one who can build up a charismatic flow
Or string some words together, I sewed theses by hand
You have to let him know that he too can be slammed.

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