Two drinks down and the nights barely over.
Another shot of Crown and I prolly won't be sober.
That slow burn hits and I feel it in my ribs
And my phone been ringing ever since I left the crib.
20 missed calls, 10 text messages, and 5 voicemails.
My minds in a glass cell. Imprision by my visions of living a life stress free.
Is it just me or are crazy women likely to like me?
The bar gets louder and the beat hits harder
but I'm babysitting this drink like a underaged daughter.
I'm starting to feel these tipsy and this girls are getting fine
and I can't help but stare at them when their bodies start to wind.
My phone is still buzzing but fuck it, her loss won't be my pain.
Another shot of Dark, bartender, I got a fuckin Migrane.
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