they wear low pants and wide shirts
you wear it plain with jeans
i never like their piercings
and you ain’t got one and clean
the ideas feeding in your brain is
as many as the ink they got on their skin
your arms are bare
seem not to care
oh dear
chorus:
what it is like if i was your cigarette
the breath you take, the one that makes
you and them the same
i’d be the smoke filling your head
if i could be your cigarette
face down, hands in your pocket
saw you in your same red jacket
another time, another pack
i’ll take my chance, no more held back
so take a drag and tell me
To Whom It May Concern 