Rain on her?
Oh, I brought the whole storm.
Grabbed my boots, rolled a blunt...
I'm in the parade for this one.
You woke up feelin’ flawless—until your car ain’t start.
Spilled coffee on your blouse, got cursed out at the mart.
Your playlist shuffled to our song by mistake,
Bet you skipped it fast, but your hands still shake.
You lost your edge, girl, your lies got stale,
Now karma drivin’ your life off-rail.
I’m just chillin’, puffin’ good, sippin’ better,
While you catch bad luck like it's stitched to your sweater.
I sent you a gift in a box dressed sweet,
But inside was thunder in a ribbon so neat.
Wrapped in a smile, laced with decay,
A storm in a vase—you’re welcome, by the way.
It’s your bad day bouquet,
Broken blooms wrapped in rainy gray.
Smell like regret and dismay—
Got mildew and thorns on display.
Yeah, bad day bouquet,
Slimy stems and petals of clay.
The kind of gift you can’t throw away—
Rot in your room like your bad day bouquet.
I pulled up to the curb in a float made of shade,
Waving through drizzle like I planned the charade.
Crowd clappin’ as I toss wilted roses in the air,
Confetti made of “you lost me” fills the square.
And yeah—mailed it straight to your place,
Wrapped in pettiness, duct-taped with hate.
Tucked inside were cursed charms and cracked glass,
A ladder folded in, just so you could pass.
Umbrella turned inside out in the rain,
A four-leaf clover that brought only pain.
Black cat fur, spilled salt, a shattered mirror too,
Signed it with “LOL” — specially for you.
You're the grand marshal of my petty parade,
Umbrella up while your sunshine fades.
Each petal’s a memory you wish away—
But I throw them back in your face every day…
It’s your bad day bouquet,
Dirt-stained daisies in disarray.
Soggy with secrets you couldn’t outrun,
And stems that snap when you say you’re “done.”
That bad day bouquet,
Delivered loud in a marching display.
I’m rollin’ up and sippin’ rosé,
Front row laughin’ at your bad day bouquet
I ain’t bitter, I’m just festive.
Threw you a whole damn pity parade and made merch for it.
Mailed those flowers so dead, even the crows turned away.
Thorns sharp enough to cut your excuses.
So next time you think you winning,
Check the doorstep.
There’s another bad day bouquet.
With your name on it...
Forever.
fkthatbtch
