Lyrics
Her heart-throb heart throbs 340
340 beats a minute
1, 2, 3, GO!
The slit throat confessions licked by randy flames of persuasion,
The shaving of bone, the lingering taste of singed enamel.
The negatives, Jennifer.
Such a compromising position
I said, "You don't need a doctor honey, you need a mortician baby."
Because I don't want your money,(This ain't no blackmail)
I don't want your favors.(This ain't no blackmail)
This ain't no blackmail(This ain't no blackmail)
This is for amusement.
You don't need a doctor honey, you need a mortician baby.
Don't shady pasts make interesting broadcasts?
Human error is never an acceptable answer, Jennifer.
