She was acting pretty
Thought she owned the city
Someone should have told her

Pretty ain't a job

Now she begs for money

But no one calls her honey
As she bothers shoppers
In the parking lot


Gets her karma with a catch
Forget superstition by wearing it backwards

She lives under ladders, and sleeps with black cats

Some people never change

They just stay the same way.

I swear this like a sailor

Love is not a favor
I find it's just a concept
That we live inside


If you can agree with
Me and Mr. Twain

In matters of opinion
Our rivals are insane.