Soak your feet
In apple cider vinegar
You smell like outdoors
I been out my senses now
I've been fighting these wars
I'm tryna live, but I ain't got the time on my hands
I'm tryna live, but I ain't got the time on my hands

I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume

Coat your throat
In chamomille and honey, child
You been screaming too loud
The street lights are coming on
And you're still my child
I'm tryna live, but I ain't got the time on my hands
I'm tryna live, but I ain't got the time on my hands

I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume

Ay, enough of the sad song
I used to wait for the day life brought my dad home
His number change ev'ry week
Can't call my dad phone
I'm stuck with two left feet
Can't make a dance song
Be careful of false idols
Weed and grinder next to The Bible
She is not mindful
Need to find her 'fa she get lied to
Ay, I bet the head was good as fuck though
Fuck what I'm sayin' g'on try ya luck, bro
That other tone be cutthroat
So make sure you buckle up though 

I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume
I still wear your perfume

Perfume

I can't write about myself in the third person and feel genuine. This is the internet, and ain't no rules so it's first-person. 

I'm Peachcurls from Cleveland, OH. It's Eastside. I make music off the MacBook Pro. Speaking of technology, I wanna give a big shoutout to computers for making all this possible. I used to be in a band called Thaddeus Anna Greene(available on all streaming platforms).

Serial Inebriated Dopamine Fiend

When I Drop, Drop Everything.

King