Writers, dancers, fuckers, beaters, liars, flyers, and little girl creepers.
Each one with two names or three names or four
We know what you call us–we’ve heard it before

We drink on Tuesdays in between buyers and fuck on the weekend when everyone’s tired
And nobody knows who’s who anymore which is just how we like it
And just how we’ll stay

If you ask him his name he’ll smile a bit
She’ll give you a kiss and you’ll give her a tip
And the reason he’s grinning is ‘cause everyone knows
That names don’t mean nothing in painting or prose

So we’ll write and we’ll dance and we’ll fuck and we’ll beat
We’ll lie our hearts out and then fly in our sleep

You can’t stop the music, the groans, or the come
Our bruises will mark us, our scars make us one

All those little girl dancers and lazy romancers
Will keep the world spinning
And loving too much

You can’t stop the tide when the weirdos come out
And there’s nowhere to run where you can’t hear our shouts

And if you forget who you nailed to the cross
Who you dragged through the mud
Who you battered with fear
Remember we like nails, and mud, guts, and tears
So do what you do
‘Cause we’ll always be here.