Kitty, Dont Shoot
Angela J. Perry
The cat is listless, so is my trigger finger
I blame god and the origin of the heavy boogie
Its all because of the opiates, or lack there of
A budding romance with a 99-cent store cowboy
I wait anxiously for my can of Comet and green flip-flops
But still the cat, the drugs, the gun—all of its mine
Oh, lucky me, pretty paupers pulling down my panties
And Im so lit I giggle and let them in
Waking with a headache over the head I just gave
The cat is sleeping, shes still pissed I had her fixed
So I sit with her and sniff my thesaurus, it breeds peace
Maybe I should care less about my cowboy, but he delivers
Then I think they fixed the wrong one
Now Im listless and the cats playing with the gun