she said she got it at the Gap
rattled her list of incessant crap
something about a hat and coat or
"hot cooter" or some shit like that

she watches fashion shows like she's
found a messiah of mercenary mores
i sit back and attack surreptitiously
because she'd never understand a thing out of me

hell I never understand a thing out of me
i'll just be damned if i label it one two or three
different ways and spread them constantly
polluting our manufactured, PC Sea

because at 5 am it's hard to tell
the difference between
good champagne and bad beer
no no at 6 am after either of those you don't care
if it's "pooey friskay" or malt "lickerrrr"
your ass is still on the tile
and you care not about her cash or that style
you just say, "Hey pass me a towel"
"I think I got a little too much taste in my mouth"

and the next day you feel a little good
and so you nod and smile like she thinks you should
saying "Mall and sale and internet"
"oh those words I fucking hate," oops, shouldn't have said that yet

and as her back gets smaller you harbor a smile
you know it's mean but fuck it took a long enough while
to get that cash and nomenclature out of your face
there are no labels left on your tap water case

no more Gap, no more "hat cooter", no more PC no more "pooey friskay"
no more malls and no more "What do you weigh?"
you're just ellee and you like it that way