cinderella sisters,
ain't no pumpkins crashing,
at this after-party ball,
one could get used to our,
bibidee- bobidee- bam,
of drinking to heaven's-deprived,
Prince-o' the charming's last rain-stained call,
screw him and his glass slipper,
strike midnight in our patent leather heels,
order up some whiskey and teardrops,
for tonight we diva this princess west-o' the chills,
and if you should fall and I should rise,
well then sister, sweetie, I love you,
but get off your fairytale ass,
pick yourself the f'up,
order up another round,
drink to our health,
then slam down, and shatter,
your parting glass-
cheers.
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