\"Meat Market Baby\"
Look at you, standing there, skin tight pants that lusting glare. Moms at home worried sick, fake I.D.'s you think your slick. Stale cigarettes linger stench of cheap booze learning to gamble living to lose. Lips chat nonsense, bragging rights hint sex. You dont even know it but your close to death. Death of your moral, decayed self esteem. Ten years on your back, flushes away all your dreams. Then all you'll have left is whats in your pants, your a "meat market baby" living each day by chance. Along comes the next slut she'll easily take your place. Then yet another life has gone to waste. Written June 9th, 2001 © on Jun 09 2001 03:43 AM PST 0 • 1
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"Look at you,..."