The story of my back pocket is dark and lonely. It holds my life with a blue jean grip and tends to sometimes let things slip. I grab my ass for life in leather and find it somehow floated away just like a fucking feather. Where did it go and how didn't I know. It was my life for fucks sake and not this shit ain't fake. I've lost it for real this time and no I'm really not trying to rhyme, but this shit is funny so why not, it's not a god dam crime. Wait, maybe I just lost my mind.