So don't act holy now, with your halo on the floor. You knew what door you knocked on when you came back for more. It's cheap, it's loud, it's trashy — yeah, so what? It's us. Skank love, duh. Don't overthink the cuss.
I’ll interpret it as a short, gritty, spoken-word / poetic piece about a cynical, messy kind of love.
We kiss like crash test dummies, no airbags deployed. Love in a trailer park, strung out and paranoid. You call me baby, but your phone got three other names. I call you mine — same difference in these neon flames.
Skank love, duh. It ain't pretty or profound. It's a busted speaker bumping a half-heard sound. You want roses and reasons? Take a ticket, take a seat. This is dumpster-fire romance, baby — dirty and sweet.
Skank love, duh. What you expect? Daisies and sonnets? Nah, just cigarettes and neglect. You liked it rough around the edges, so I cut my hands on you. Now you’re surprised I’m bleeding? Girl, what else is new?
You want my glitter, but all I got is grime. Love in the cheap seats, rust on the chime. You showed up lipstick-smeared, whiskey on your breath, Talking 'bout forever — I just laughed 'til I wept.