Weapon Sex

Song: Weapon Sex

Album: Toussaint Morrison Is Not My Boyfriend

Artist: Toussaint Morrison

Written by Toussaint Morrison

Released August 21, 2012

ref: http://toussaintmorrison.bandcamp.com/track/weapon-sex

Her moods switch like her profile pics

Cut me out- cut me out ‘til it looks like this

But I was with the ex gettin’ goodnight sex

She was standin’ at the ledge singing “come fly with”

Hmm, temptin’. She pitched a faircase

But I opted out and beat her to the bottom- took the staircase

Ran across the park ‘til the sun went dark

Ran until I couldn’t remember where the chapter starts

Reasons get lost, the story gets blurry

Misery’s on patrol like cops lurkin’

They wanna take our party by the curtains

And turn it into warm beer, cold women and no mercy

Have no fear. I’m in it to go dirty

I got the soul of a thousand ghost riders on Sturgis

She came back for friendship: the best revenge

I took the bait in good faith, let’s pretend

You’re worth every bit’a self-respect that’s left

Kiss kiss bang- I made her say

Chorus

Copped an attitude, started talkin’ rude

All in the name of self-preservation

I’ve had it- I’m thru. I’m onto somethin’ new.

All in the name of “fuck it I ain’t waitin’”

She wanna text like she just hit the tarmac

And get service from the host and the barback

Homie, don’t let the ex be friends

Go ahead protect your neck and get set

Move on to the next- on- on to the next one

No need to spend money- just time and attention

Close to the chest son, you don’t want the tension

Breathe easy, it’s goin’ down like a pension

But the second that it can’t get any better

You’re datin’ and she’s the plus one to your friend’s wedding

The ex is shootin’ texts your way sober as day

Sayin’ we should replay the last time you made her say…

Chorus

Sex after the break up

You can’t have your cake and not get ate up

Sex after the break up

You can’t have your cake and not get ate up

Sex after the break up

You can’t have your cake and not get ate up

She wanna bring the heat, so I’m callin’ Bobby Drake up

I dance dirty, but don’t get the hands dirty

We’re past flirtin’. I’m at first but not third yet

I can’t turn it off, I’m that certain

Gave her the tremendous twelve and we ain’t even at Perkins

I mass murder and heart break- I’m at your service

I talk for a livin’- I was raised by last worders

And table turners, but real talk no play

If you’re goin’ in, make sure you make her say

Chorus