Lunch

It's not black enough to see where any white isSo I'll wait another hour for you and your designer jeansAnd I remember you as heartless as a freewayAnd I wonder if the time will make your eyes like AngelynesWill you shuffle to your seat, greasy head and naked feetAnd your expensive hands are swinging all your Beverly keysThe latest color on you lips and there's a satchel at your hipsAnd it's all full of broken Barbie dolls and disassembled dreamsIf you don't want for them to hate you cause you beautifulHow can you want them all to love you for the same thingFor the same thingYou went and left you license on the car seatYou had a couple drinks with him and then you changed your nameAnd then he handed you a tambourine and whistledNo matter what they call you by, the meaning stays the sameNow your shotgun on the floor, your window's just a doorRiding backward 'cross state lines in high heels that they made you wearYour steamers in the trunk, it's all loaded up with junkLike lead and blood and dust and hair and stuff to kill the stingYou don't want for them to hate you because you're beautifulHow can you want them all to love you for the same thingNow your shotgun on the floor, your window's just a doorRiding backward 'cross state lines in high heels that they made you wearYour steamers in the trunk, it's all loaded up with junkLike lead and blood and dust and hair and stuff to kill the stingYou don't want for them to hate you be cause you're beautifulHow can you want them all to love you