The Etiquette Is Dead

I want to giggle in a gaggle in the garden With a gravy train of gabby girls and grabby guys And glug some wine and get good grime It's Party Time. Got a gaggle of the goons and we’re going grandiose Glucose overdose, comatose, bellicose I’m the garden variety sociopath with a garden hose Spraying champagne on the haters and the average Joes. Stilettos sinking in the mulch, yeah, we aerate the lawn Manicured claws ripping hydrangeas until the break of dawn We don’t do tea, we don’t do crumpets, we don’t do polite We’re photosynthesizing neon under strobe-light satellites. Oh, the etiquette is dead So we butter up the bread Dirt under the fingernails, diamonds on the wrist Blurry vision precision, blow a muddy kiss. Make it filthy, make it shine Sippin’ sludge like it’s turpentine Pass the biscuits, pass the buck We’re committing high-calorie spiritual luck Garden party, glamour crime Rolling in the good, good grime. (Get get get get get grimey) Glutinous, gluttonous, glamorous, gutsy The vintage is vinegar, the attitude's klutzy Gnomes in the corner watching with a porcelain stare While I tangle up the trellis in my bleach-blonde hair. Sauce on the ceiling, chandelier swinging low Dip a boy in fondue, tell me how he tastes, you know? Nothing in this manic manor ever goes to waste Put a little bit of earth on your pretty plastic face. G-g-g-giggle when it hurts, wiggle in the dirt Gravy train derailed, spilled sauce on my shirt. Is it a party or a panic attack? I got a golden goose in a Gucci sack. Quack quack, step back, heart attack, click clack We don’t cut the slack, we just fade to black. The neighbors called the cops but the cops brought the kegs. Worms in the tequila. Beetles in the bass. Pardon my french. It's party time.