I’m assuming we’re wounded together forever I want you to get better I’ll be your band-aid I’ll be your band-aid I’m assuming your bruises could mean your into cruising And I don’t really do this But I’ll be your band-aid I’ll be your band-aid Will you fix me with your heart of gold? My angel is a centerfold And she comes with paper cuts and all But she’s just what I’ve been looking for Will you be my little quick fix? ‘Cause I just dealt with sick shit My last thing ended quick, quick So I’ve got no one to sit with And I was wondering if you were wanting to come through Do you? I don’t need you, you don’t need me I let you know before you leave That all I need’s a bag of weed Just something chill, some company When everything gets serious, I just get delirious and blue You say you do too So let’s patch up all our problems With band-aids and some shots of whiskey or some wine Or whatever we’ve got lots of ‘Cause we’re both going through it, so w