Let me pay you a compliment, you've got a nice rack,
and please don't feel offended or under attack.
These are the things I was told to say if I wanted to lay down the mac
you know compliment you on the thinness of your waiste,
and how the clothes that hug your silhouette have such great taste.
How you seem to be playing along with my smooth lines but its nothing but the beginning of your gate.
Like why is there so much hate?
Did you get raped when you were eight
By a man who you loath and despise and whom your mother used to date.
Did he decide when enough was enough and that was your fate.
Did he make you scream as he touched you as your later boyfriends did?
Was the hunger in his eyelids hid by the the lust he prided.
This is nothing I did.
But I am sorry.
Is there so much hate from the boyfriend that used to lay his hands on you?
Lay them hit after hit until you lay crying black and blue.
And then he'd ordered you to go get food at the end of the avenue.
and you throw your jacket on and do what you "king" asked you to do.
No you were not his fool, but his tool.
Showing loyalty only because it was your hearts rule.
It was as stubborn as a mule.
And at then end of the night he'd kiss you all over and say it was all cool why he plotted in his mind that he'd never do it again.
Then he'd relapse when he'd lay heavy on the gin, smacking you around at times with a grin. Carrying around love in his heart but destruction in his actions, now take that for a spin.
but I am sorry.
I am nothing like the men before
so open up your door.
Llet your jaw hit the floor
as we explore.
the conumdrums of life, the very fiber of its pores.
I don't mean to scare you away with being to forward
cause quite honestly you have nothing to look towards.
Am I another coward?
Am I another attack, no the ability of that I lack.
Forget my opening line, because I'm quite honestly neither a player nor a mac.
I'm just the man who will never have to say sorry.