deepundergroundpoetry.com

WHATCHA CALLING FOR?

Can someone speed dial Molly,
tell her to meet us on the club floor.
Sheís a VIP, no waiting at the front door.
Donít talk her up, just swallow her down,
Sheís a bitch zone drug craving more
then a mystical sound.

Now weíre bouncing off walls
in the bathrooms, Mary, mary
quite contrary whilst the mirror
speaks my drunk dooms.
Watching the china white come in
one door and get snorted out the
back door, rainbows on the ceiling,
now our minds are on the floor.

Just touch me up, do I look like
I did at the start of the night?
Now watch me move to the rhythm
of the disco light. Cherry cola, mix it
with vodka. Now watch me shoot this
bitch like the Devil wears Prada.

Iím in my zone, donít burst my bubble.
Touch my ass and Iím gonna start some trouble.
I can hear you ringing from your solitary bore.
But Iím busy popping 9.1.1ís with GAGA
on the dance floor. Unless its life or death?
Whatcha calling for?
ChronicleSinner
Written by ChronicleSinner
Published
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