Imelda Three

Lit like some ocean bar, well within your credit zones, searching for a forgotten Da, poor people pay your dues, yet you drink alone, he leaves you here to stew, you can only play La La, before asking for more loans, they only go so far, even without a feud, on throwaway 'phones, you need more shoes, your hair is like tar, Saints reveal their bones, something inside you whispers Nah, the trail is well used, you can't leave these homes, life circles around you, yours is not a lucky star, husband always needs right tones, this place is your Spa, tales of love a joke.