Chris

Dialed a number, got a stranger on the line

Thought it was my buddy, but fate said “fuck it, you’re mine”

“Who the hell is this?” he laughed like a goddamn maniac

Next thing I know we’re meeting up in Oildale, no turning back

Wrong phone number, right-place destiny

Chris with the grin and the pure chaos energy

We were supposed to be strangers, now we’re local folklore

Oildale nights don’t ask permission, they just say “hold my beer and watch this shit explode”

Chorus

Chris, you’ll always have a piece of my heart

Even though we dated and it blew the fuck apart

You’re the tattoo artist who inked my soul (and my worst decisions)

We did some crazy-ass shit that still makes the neighbors call the cops for no reason

Wrong number miracle, Oildale’s finest goddamn mistake

I’ll never forget you, you beautiful human earthquake

Verse 2

Remember that night we tried to race the train?

You said “trust me, bitch” while holding a half-flat bike and a beer in the rain

Got matching stick-and-pokes that looked like a toddler had a seizure with a pen

Yours said “YOLO” mine said “why the fuck did we begin?”

You inked a dragon on some dude that looked like a sad potato

He cried, you high-fived, then we stole his burrito and ate it in his driveway like assholes

We once got locked in a gas station bathroom till dawn

Singing karaoke to the soap dispenser with our pants halfway down, yelling “this is art, motherfuckers!”

Chorus

Chris, you’ll always have a piece of my heart

Even though we dated and it blew the fuck apart

You’re the tattoo artist who inked my soul (and my worst decisions)

We did some crazy-ass shit that still makes the neighbors call the cops for no reason

Wrong number miracle, Oildale’s finest goddamn mistake

I’ll never forget you, you beautiful human earthquake

Bridge

We weren’t meant to last, but damn we were a circus

Like two raccoons sharing one dumpster and a stolen radio, high off paint fumes and pure stupidity

Now you’re out there putting masterpieces on people’s skin

And I’m still laughing about the time we almost joined a cult… just for the free snacks and the group hug

Final Chorus

Chris, you’ll always have a piece of my heart

Even though we dated and it blew the fuck apart

You’re the tattoo artist who inked my soul (and my dumbest tattoos)

We did some crazy-ass shit — the kind the cops still argue about in their reports

Wrong number miracle, Oildale’s finest goddamn mistake

I’ll never forget you…

You beautiful, ink-stained, chaos-powered, slightly unhinged human earthquake