I like to think that Iím the better kind of man.
I like to think that I already kinda am.
I know Iím not. Hell, not by a long shot.
I pretend I am so I donít end up single again.
What is this dance I canít seem to get out of?
I act so dense, got no plans to be proud of.
Leaving a trail of lost interests that cost many
women to leave their spouse for some dude on the internet.
Itís an addiction. †
Breaking up families goes way too smooth. †
Iím the devilís worst prediction.
I wish I knew what the proper way to act is.
I wish I knew what I should do to correct this.
Iím convinced Iím not half the man I think I am.
I think I jinxed whatever path I was set out to plan.
When I get bored I just tell her that I hate her.
Zero effort. Zero feelings. Less than a terminator.
When I get bored again Iíll probably call her up and meet her by the door again †
so I can follow up on empty promises and fuck her on the floor again.
Sometimes even I amaze me. †
Rhyming the same word three times? Man, so lazy.
Go hate me.
See if I care. Open up my chest and see if the hardest working muscleís even there.
To be fair, itís been passed around many times so Iím afraid the beating †
is the same as the flesh it consists of. Rare.
Womanizer in the many eyes that realize their luck isnít even on a pair of dice.
Womanizer in the hearts of many filled with lies that canít seem to find the comfy way to paradise.
Donít push your luck in too many ways.
No worries, the devil controls my luck these days.