Abigail's Ghost Black Lace
Boy you’d swear she’s a movie queen
The way she fits into every scene
Driving in her Benz
Sending texts to her friends
New nose in a magazine
Prada boots and prescription pills
Born and raised in the Hollywood hills
She’s daddy’s little girl
Not a care in the world
With a trust fund paying the bills
8 o’clock and she’s on the street
Dress is anything but discrete
Taking it for granted
Everyone will be enchanted
Lining up just to kiss her feet
Appletini in her business hand
The other one is picking out any man
She’s a sucker for a dude
With a shit attitude
Big chest and a spray-on tan
But if you want it rough
She can’t get enough
You wanna get behind
She’s the first in line
Take her for a spin
You just come on in
Buckle up for the ride
Keep your arms inside
Black lace and she’s crawling back for more
Did I hear you say “4 on the floor”?
Making out in a bathroom stall
Heavy breathing with her hands on the wall
The chance of getting caught
Only gets a second thought
If it ever gets the first at all
Then a whisper in a stranger’s ear
“I’ve got a place 11 blocks from here
You can hail a cab
While I settle up your tab
Am I making this perfectly clear?”
