[Intro – amp buzz, one drumstick count] [FEMALE – spoken] They asked for the cleaned-up version. I said, “You must have the wrong woman.” [Dirty guitar riff kicks in] [Verse 1 – gritty rock] There’s a grocery receipt in my jacket sleeve, A half-finished tune and a tank on E. Two missed turns and a laugh I couldn’t hold, Another ridiculous story begging to be told. Used to wear a uniform under fluorescent lights, Now I cut little pieces from my sleepless nights. Somebody said, “Be tasteful. Don’t say that out loud.” I wrote it in permanent ink and cranked the speakers up. [Pre-Chorus – bass and tom drums] Can’t fit twelve different moods in a five-minute call, Some days I answer, some days I let it ring out. [Chorus – raw, full-throated rock] I’M THE ROUGH CUT, BABY! LEAVE THE SCRATCHES IN! LET THE DRUMS COME CRASHING WHERE THE PRETTY SONGS BEGIN! I GOT LAUGHTER IN MY THROAT, A THOUSAND UNFINISHED SCENES— IF YOU WANT A PERFECT PICTURE, DON’T POINT THAT LENS AT ME! [Verse 2 – faster, dirty guitar] I can turn a dating disaster into Saturday gold, Make a room burst laughing at the things I told. Then get quiet halfway through a sentence, ’Cause a memory came back without asking permission. One minute I’m checking what the gas pump took, Next minute I’m writing a brand-new hook. I’m not a slogan stitched on somebody’s shirt, I’m a woman with opinions and a sense of the absurd. [Break – band stops] [Producer – through talkback, spoken] Can you make it sound a little nicer? [FEMALE – spoken] Nope. [Drum fill] [Bridge – bare guitar, then rising drums] I’ve counted my change in a parking lot, Sat there waiting for the engine to cool. I’ve had nights when I couldn’t fix a thing And mornings when the jokes came through. There’s still a chord I haven’t played, A sentence I haven’t finished yet. So plug that battered amplifier in— There’s a lot I haven’t said. [Final Chorus – guitars wide, belted lead] I’M THE ROUGH CUT, BABY! DON’T YOU SMOOTH ME OUT! KEEP THE OFF-KEY LAUGHTER, KEEP THE THINGS I SAID TOO LOUD! LET THE SPEAKERS RATTLE, LET THE FLOORBOARDS SHAKE— I’M NOT HERE TO LOOK FLAWLESS, I’M HERE TO SOUND LIKE ME! [FEMALE – extended raspy belt] LIKE MEEEEEEEE! [Outro – feedback, final snare] [FEMALE – laughing, spoken] You keeping that take? Good. That’s the one. Biatch on the Mike! [Guitar sting]
