Text: Tori Amos. Don't Make Me Come To Vegas.

Don't make me come to Vegas.
Don't make me pull you out of his bed.
I am vigilant that it will not be you,
On the menu he's serving up for his friends.
Don't make me come to Vegas.
Don't make me pull him out of your head.
Athena will attest that it could be done,
And it has been done and I think that I am up to it.

And the Jacaranda tree,
She's telling me of the trouble you're in,
Just by the way she bends.
Remember dancing and wondering as you were swaying...
What kind of woman you'd be,
"What will be will be"- over my dead body. Ah hoo.. Ah hoo...
Slip through your hand again and again.


My old flame was a jester,
And a joker and as dealer of men,
They called him the prince,
Prince of Black Jacks and of women,
And of anything that's slipped into his hands.
"And the Ranches and the mustangs,"
And the way you said, "You can have all this-
Except for me... You see Lady Luck is my mistress,
And you'll have to play second to her wish."


And the Jacaranda tree is telling me it's not over yet,
Just by the way She bends.
"If you come breezin' through,"
You said "I'll know that it's you,
By the taste on my lips,
Bet on the desert's kiss."
I could slip through your net "over my dead body."
Ah hoo.. Ah hoo...
Slip through your hand again and again.
Ah hoo.. Ah hoo...
Slip through your hand again and again.

Don't make me come to Vegas.
Don't make me come to Vegas.
Don't make me come to Vegas, hm.