Automanic

Can't stand up straight.
Feeling drunk, alone late at night,
And I'm drowning in the depths of my own hate.
That's about the time you make your move.
Pants around your knees, open breech like a gun.
Pistol grip 12 turned 21.
And I know she came on my city,
But down on her back, well she ain't so pretty.
Down on the street you can find all your looking for.

What you got for me, love?
I don't need it.
What you got for me, drugs?
I don't need it.
Yeah, I don't want it.
I don't need it.
What you got for me, love?
I don't need it...

...Anymore, anyway, what's the game that you're playing now,
That you're out and about just like a stray yeah?
You show it off cuz, damn, your life's a bore.
Your designs include me and a cheap hotel.
Liquor me up to lick me straight down to hell.
And I know your plan is too risky.
When charm fails to work, you resort to the whiskey.
Hands on the street when you find that you're all alone.

What you got for me, love?
I don't need it.
What you got for me, drugs?
I don't need it.
Yeah, I don't want it.
I don't need it.
What you got for me, love?
I don't need it.