That Bitch from Apartment 6C
She’s a bleach-blonde detonation with a blackout for a soul,
High heels louder than her rock-bottom goals on every floor,
Got a smile that’s half apology, half loaded threat, all teeth,
Wears red lipstick like a court-mandated statement underneath.
She keyed my car and pointed at the planetary alignment,
Screams at her dying plants and flirts across every confinement,
Her dog is legitimately called Satan and it fits without a seam,
Stole my ex, his gaming setup, no apologies, just a gleam.
That bitch from apartment 6C,
Got a chainsaw heart and a degree in anarchy,
Lives exclusively on drama and the cheapest wine they sell,
She’ll burn directly through heaven if it steps across her trail.
Her conception of love is a mugshot with a wink attached,
She ghosted her landlord right after the plumbing was dispatched,
Leaves glitter in her wake like it’s a documented warfare style,
That restraining order’s just another line item in her file.
Don’t ask her — just address her as the storm rolling through town,
With a synthetic laugh and behavioral patterns that confound,
She’s a walking curse in lace with a full-contact smile,
And she’ll own your entire operation for a considerable while.