Tag: femme fatale

Killer

Glasses smashed, hearts and ribs broken
The guts of good old Englishmen
Running up and down the walls
Arm and arm we stand
Like a leather’d skin octopi
Giving our local audience
A taste of our fangs, free of charge
In the throw violence, what a time to be alive

Killer wants to get her hands dirty
Killer’s sick of playing bystander
Killer’s sick of hearing another gaslight anthem
If the good people don’t know what’s good for ‘em
We’ll have to scream and scrap, fuck and fight!!
There’s blood in her teeth, where they shew her anger

Killer wants to know if I’m in or out?
Killer says take the one’s on the left
Killer says jump it before the boys in blue arrive
We’ve done gods work here tonight
Another e-sports champ who’ll think twice
Before he clips that beautiful skylarks wings

No boy’s strong enough
No girl’s violent enough
So fuck it lets just collide
Swinging a Morgan’s around like a mic
Sonically deliver the memo to my ears
“I wanna scream and scrap, fuck and fight”
With the winners bracket looking empty
I guess it’s back to yours for a civil war

True Femininity

A familiar drone infests the bar like tinnitus
It’s that of a innocent young thing of feminine decent
As tonight’s sideshows swarm to the last safe-heaven
Their clammy mitts play the role of the intruder
To locations only devotes and nannies should dare to probe
As she just stays stationary to the whole affair
Waiting for the horns of the masculine resistance
To come from the hill tops

Oh how refreshing it was to see you: stanced like a barbarian
As you watch his fingers slowly hover to the fringe of your jeans
Micro-molecules from collision, like a samurai wielding her katana
Your nails tear through his insufferable clans reptilian emblem
At a drop of a brow, he’s out the door

Oh sweet dear Bodacia
I’m unapologeticly devoted to you
Just bind me up do what you want to too
To feel the rush of a gash wound
From the heel of your regal studded boots

I’m yours to command, tell me what to do
I’m inspired by the mere comprehension of you
When I see the school dinner line of boys
Extending from where you stand at the bar
With their tails between their legs, Faces dropped like a Bulldog
There’s no misunderstandings, no unconsenting advances
A regular Kathleen Hanna for the Topshop age

Oh sweet dear Joan of Arc
I’m blind-sighted by the concept of you
Pin me up by the trachea till I turn blue
Drop me to the cobblestones under the moons hue
The boys might migrate to the smokers
When you showcase the canine choppers
But their isn’t anything I wouldn’t do
To get that look from you