Constance from Connecticut makes me wish I was a rich kid always ill at ease in nice houses she feels like a thief in the night when she drinks her seventh Coors the fucking swill all out of liquor liquor house rules playing beer pong without her top on its a shame cause we just gaze eyes glaze too drunk to go home too ill at ease to sleep under the all leering of the vultures at this rich kid's house a swarm of half erections swing swing whiskey dick Constance from Connecticut cocksucker took her keys left on the couch to rot or get raped there shouldn't be a grey area between consent and exploitation it isn't fair to keep up our constant vigilance between the pigs, bosses, and politicians and she feels out of place half a mind to walk the five miles home walk that long to feel tired enough for sleep missing the East Coast but I'm never missing the Midwest cause geography is just as transient as time it moves on when you're away and it only takes a plane ride to dispel the homesickness felt she hugs her nephews in Hartford and she sees me at house parties the next weekend you tell me "I wish I could be anything but bourgeois" and I say, "I wish you could take me home with you and call me your little working class boy." A lie I know but so what?
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