The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apt.

Oh, I just love the kind of woman who can walk over a man
 And 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
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 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 spinnin'
 I feel so unconvincin'
 And I fumbled with the buttons
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 She blames her excess on my influence
 But gladly hoovers all my drugs
 I found her naked with the 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