The Brunt Of Our Jokes Songtext
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Your witty curve, from your hip to your pinkie toe.
Can't help but admire the grace, in which you cross the room.
You don't have to try it's art, it's kindness, it's thrilling compassion.
Because you still have your curves
And I still have my admiration.
Trying not to cross, those who are cross
Little do they know they're bearing the brunt of our jokes.
Without even entering the room.
Can't help but admire the grace, in which you cross the room.
You don't have to try it's art, it's kindness, it's thrilling compassion.
Because you still have your curves
And I still have my admiration.
Trying not to cross, those who are cross
Little do they know they're bearing the brunt of our jokes.
Without even entering the room.
We never demanded anything,
We were content with what was given to us.
Because you still have your curves
And I still have my admiration.
Those fuckers, shooting from the hip.
Both guns drawn, bullets whizzing by our ears.
Tackling little girls smarter than them.
Yeah, it's frustrating, but at the same time, so satisfying.
Because you still have your curves
And I still have my admiration.
We were content with what was given to us.
Because you still have your curves
And I still have my admiration.
Those fuckers, shooting from the hip.
Both guns drawn, bullets whizzing by our ears.
Tackling little girls smarter than them.
Yeah, it's frustrating, but at the same time, so satisfying.
Because you still have your curves
And I still have my admiration.
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