About song: featuring Manufactured Superstars
I went out to the club the other night, duh.
You know, dance with my b*tches.
That guy was there again.
He said, I'm sorry for what I said last weekend.
I told him I didn't mind, which was a lie
But I was equally sorry and I didn't want to apologise.
It was just a drunk text.
In my head I was writing a fiction of us.
Behind my eyes I was begging for things my lips would never ask.
And my mouth kept pouring desperate clauses of random intent.
He asked me if he could text me later after the club.
He hands me another shot of Vodka and I say "Sure".
I'm on the dance floor when I get a text from Adam.
I'm to lazy to type so I send him a photo I took up a dancer's skirt,
Telling him to come get it. Not realising what I had just sent.
Later on she comes up to me, holds up her phone screaming at me and I say:
I'm sorry, It was just a drunk text.
I should have known they knew each other.
No one is safe on the twittersphere anymore.
You take the word sex and mix it with texting. It's called sexting.
When you add drunk sexting, the words just don't make any sense.
It's a hot mess of mispelled obsceneties, body parts and run on questions.
I'm not sure what he means to ask.
I get a text from my best friend. She's upstairs getting bottles from this.
She's like this guy wants you to wet your lips with his bottle,
He wants you to bring more girls up like some kind of pimp.
Are you f*cking kidding me?
It's just another moment with one stupid reply that leads me to the walk of shame
And I'll be damned if I end up in some lame diner after this.
Last night's lingerie in my purse.
It was just a drunk text. It was just a drunk text.
This is the last time I'll ever drunken text.
It was just a drunk text. It was just a drunk text.