Head swingin’ like a chandelier,
your “sorry” just a souvenir——
I’m neon, no brakes, blow the speakers,
kiss-off in three-part harmony.
Iggy cash-countin’ in the back seat,
bars cold like a mint-condition heartbreak.
You want the loop? Pay the meter.
Problem? That’s your name, not mine—
I’m the high note you can’t reach, baby,
watch me moonwalk out your timeline.