This is a song about "Foxes boxes bunches punches crosses wishes peaches dresses matches torches catastrophe"

Afterwards wanna deny dna, fuck three wishes

Sipping moscato with models having exotic dishes

The critics are calling me conscious

My girls and my sbs, got a thing for pink boxes

It's difficult to let it goi'm startin' to loose my hair cause i worry

So, naturally, catastrophe and atrophy used to be attached to me.

And we way too young to know love, maybe not but we don't need no rush

I'm stuck inside a slump runnin' numbers like proportion boxes,

You want to be an usher huh? here are a few matches

Are you afraid of a thug? and have you ever made love

Dc's here, this is where crack lives

And punches thrown with metal rings

See my desire for the lust, fucked up what was love

In a hairy mess, doused with gas, light her dress with matches