Música para camaleones (107) Father John Misty - The night Josh Tillman came to our apartment

Oh, I just love the kind of woman Who can walk over a man I mean like a god damn marching band She says, like literally Music is the air she breathes And the malaprops make me want to fucking scream I wonder if she even knows what that word means Well, it's literally not that Of the few main things I hate about her One's her petty, vogue ideas Someone's been told too many times They're beyond their years By every half-wit of distinction she keeps around And now every insufferable convo Features her patiently explaining the cosmos Of which she's in the middle Oh my God, I swear this never happens Lately, I can't stop the wheels from spinning I feel so unconvincing And I fumble with your buttons She blames her excess on my influence But gladly Hoovers all my drugs I found her naked with her best friend in the tub We sang "Silent Night" in three parts which was fun 'Til she said that she sounds just like Sarah Vaughan I hate that soulful affectation white girls put on Why don't you move to the Delta? I obliged later on When you begged me to choke ya