Don't come home, I don't want you in my bed Go to the apartment in the West Village instead
I'll drop off your clothes, your mail and medication
I'm already on my way, heading to the station
Stuck on the F, there’s a problem on the line I couldn’t be more stressed, I'm losing my mind
Up to the first floor, key in the front door Nothing’s ever gonna be the same anymore
* And that’s when I realised (Realised) Something don’t feel right
** I didn’t know it was a pussy palace, pussy palace, pussy palace, pussy palace
I always thought it was a dojo, dojo, dojo
So am I looking at a sex addict, sex addict, sex addict, sex addict
I'll talk about a low blow, oh, no, oh, no
I didn’t know it was a pussy palace, pussy palace, pussy palace, pussy palace
I always thought it was a dojo, dojo, dojo
So am I looking at a sex addict, sex addict, sex addict, sex addict?
I'll talk about a low blow, oh, no, oh, no
I found a shoebox full of handwritten letters
From brokenhearted women wishing you could have been better
Sheets pulled off the bed, the strunel on the floor
Long black hair, probably from the night before
Duane Reade bag with the handles tied Sex toys, butt plugs, lube inside
Hundreds of Trojans, you're so fucking broken How'd I get caught up in your double life
