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Tic begins, where's the manner end?
Climate change will never get in
Silent and strong, prepossessed
You never need to make your own mess
Weasel to me, charming to some
Loathsome and glib, habits like self-love
Wearing slim fast, carve your niche
Lean smug back, work your pitch
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And all the way I'm gone, no demon race to find
You paint it up and know that any face can lie
And all the way I'm gone, no demon race to find
You paint it up and know that any face can lie
Affect my greatest style, what suits me best of all
I'll keep my pocket filled, lean right and fall