Black sweatband, sticks blur in her hands; she's the [bad word] 
 She weaves a beat through Kinks and Deep Purple covers

 Can't shake her off
 She keeps me tied in knots
 I'm tangled from the inside out

 [bad word] out and tired, a funeral-crier; I'm heartsick
 So I twist and turn till the ropes start to burn and I'm frantic

 All those uptown boys making noise but she just yawns
 With a wicked back beat, she flips them off and then she's gone