they were caught in the path of recklessness
remember the girls of '97
i used to lie to myself 'bout how it really felt to be a bad man
well i'm sure i made it look fun
i was young and dressed in sexy clothes
sorta fixated on guns
it was dumb i know
but back then i was so hollywood
she was a blackfoot indian warrior
and in my mind i was already a legend
i was still a virgin homeless and hungry
and desperate for touch and acceptance
she had a tattoo that said thug-life
i was never so gangster
she pretended to be my wife
i intended to thank her
with some kind of hollywood
mrs. brown came home to find the kittens in the kitchen
this aroused her suspicions she closed them in the den
imagine her alarm to find the bedroom curtains dancing
with the screens slashed vertically and the knife left in the sill
the handgun in the underwear was gone
she had no way of knowing whether she was home alone
so she dashed across the lawn to the nearest neighbors phone
where she dialed 911
my actress was swept with delight that night
a little beretta sure makes a stylish accessory
we shot it at the sky in the parking lot
of the high school where she dropped out after her pregnancy
and then we held hands and walked off for pancakes
in our vinyl pants man we were so hollywood
mrs. brown came home to find the kittens in the kitchen
mrs. brown came home to find her sanctuary stormed
by a boy who she'd once driven to the hospital with asthma
by a boy who wasn't worthy of a friendship with her son
she came home that afternoon to invasion and betrayal
and the burden on my conscience is to wonder how she feels
would she wish to see me stumble or falter on the truth
the mystery of karma isn't through