Little Boots Lyrics

She cared
sickle-cell hair dress
anemic fucking mess
trance-dance that cake right off the shelf: apply
Do or die, cum bucket: self-prescribed
Oh you're runnin' it
Oh you're struttin' it
Oh you're makin' a scene

Oh please, scatter me in several seeds
dripping down, down, down
Oh no ms. dirty sheets, no rings allowed

Afraid of the great white lightning

Two young boys come to the dumpster
sipping a satchel of sin
Watching those red horizons
on momma's face; peeling skin
Who'll save the queen from the duchess?
It's only a matter of time.
Retire: you golden prized fighter,
and get up the next in line.

White sense
dressed up in incest
the cardinal's so depressed
Saddle up, pants off: here comes the lovely prize
Do or die, cum-bucket: self-prescribed
Oh you're runnin' it
Oh you're struttin' it
Oh you're makin' a scene