Lyrics
The Georgia Ave bus stop, the 70's rain-streaked glass,
the lipstick print you left stuck on my dented metal flask.
That August when the power grid was buggin' out for weeks,
we read each other's fortunes in the carry-out grease.
We were a wasp nest buzzing in the busted kitchen vent,
swore we'd burn the whole damn city down to pay the rent.
Shared a pack of Newports on the fire escape ledge,
and you flicked the burning filter right over the edge.
[Chorus]
One: the chipped tooth from a bottle that you took for me.
Two: the fake ID you laminated, crooked, see?
Three: the Sharpie tattoo of a moth above your knee.
Yeah, I'm just wiping down the damage, running the receipt.
[Verse 2]
Then you got a new apartment, all that federal gray stone,
started talking 'bout your equity and leaving me alone
with the roaches and the regulars, the sticky midnight floors,
said, "You know you could do better," like 'better' wasn't ours.
Now you're jawsin' with the termites in their freshly-pressed new suits,
actin' like you can't remember all the bitter, tangled roots.
You're a different kind of insect now, you shed a different skin,
you just eat the foundation out and let the weather in.
[Chorus]
One: the chipped tooth from a bottle that you took for me.
Two: the fake ID you laminated, crooked, see?
Three: the Sharpie tattoo of a moth above your knee.
Yeah, I'm just wiping down the damage, running the receipt.
[Bridge]
Remember carving names into the Sump's back table top?
I saw they sanded it all down, but the memory won't stop.
You built your little hive up-top, I get it, I can see.
But don't you buzz around my head with your new-money pity.
[Outro]
I saw you at the bar last week, from half a block away.
You ordered sparkling water with a lemon, and you paid.
About HEX NAIL
HEX NAIL—aka Zola Campbell—pours whiskey at The Sump, a dive bar on D.C.'s U Street corridor, until 3am. She sees the city for what it is: a collision of power and the people who serve it. She writes her lyrics on bar napkins during smoke breaks, turning overheard conversations and the sheer physical exhaustion of her work into blistering trap-rage anthems. These songs are forged in the heat of a…
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