Chelsea

Dirty river views while she's rolling down the avenue

John Lennon reading glasses, couple tattoos

Chain wallet where the ass is, switchblade up in her shoe

And the only matter of fact is she's not thinking of you

She does lucha libre down in Mexico, and you know

She could score you killer blow, but she'd never do it though

Tip toe on the edge she's living on carefully slow

Fire in her eyes is probably why her whole complexion glows

She don't remember your name

But your face looks familiar, so guess it's all the same

Five foot high, fair, starry-eyed dame

Wine and dine, you're on her clothesline, cause she's airing out her shame