How Do Live Performances Alter I Did Something Bad Lyrics?

If you are going to be BAD, then you have to do it the BAD way... It's pretty simple: 1) Don't get caught 2) Always have a Plan B 3) If all else fails... Run...Run for your life! Everyone has a bad side. Some try to deny it's existence, some hide it and others well...they rule the world with it. In the book of being BAD, there are ninety-nine formulas for world domination... Number one: You aren't BAD until you can walk around the school dressed in all pink and have everyone afraid to approach you. Number two: You aren't BAD until you can break into a certain bad boys house and well... do the wrong kinds of stuff. Number three: You aren't bad until quite frankly, you have declared vengeance against the bad boy. ~*~ "I heard you like bad boys," Blade says with a vivid smirk on his face. I glared up at him, without responding clenching my fists fighting the urge to punch him in the face. "So...?" He says after a couple of seconds of silence. "So what?" "So what do you think...Tinker Bell?" He says emphasizing on the stupid name. His face moved closer to mine and I stared back into his green eyes, watching the fire inside ignite. I smirked, "Then find me one." Blade grins at my witty retort and shrugs it off. "I look at you and I see cotton candy, but then you open your mouth... and suddenly you turn into liquorice," he scoffs. "Welcome to the game bitch, your move, now let's play."

"Please, stop pushing. I can't take this anymore." The concert venue is packed tight. A man behind me keeps pressing into my backside. I'm wearing a mini skirt today with a thong underneath, and it only makes the situation worse. He lifts my skirt and presses himself against my hips. As the atmosphere heats up, someone in front of me slams into me, and I stumble back a step. My body stiffens as I feel like something just slid inside me.

I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died. The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary. The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place. He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name. I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand. Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study. This time, I said nothing. It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything." He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called. I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged. That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines. He never even knew I had carried a child. Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands. But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.

Five years after Mom and Dad died, my sister, Miley Jenkinson, sent me away to a residential treatment center to "fix" me. She flung my luggage at me and roared, "You love fighting so much, Delia? Then, stay here. Maybe I'll come back for you once you've learned to behave." Next thing I know, Miley's sworn enemy is beating me senseless. Meanwhile, Miley loses it on the other end of the line. "Fight back! Why aren't you fighting back?" My gaze is blank as I say, "Because you said fighting made me one of the bad ones."

In the seventh year of singing on the streets for a living, I finally save enough money for my boyfriend, Charlie Bond, to pay for our wedding and marry me. Late at night, a young woman suddenly walks up to me and requests a song just as I'm about to pack up. She says, "I'm in a bad mood. Just sing a couple of songs for me." When she notices my disabled leg, she transfers 5,000 dollars to me right away. She adds, "I'm sorry for bothering you when it's already so late. I'm just really upset. Please take pity on me and keep me company for a while." Looking at the payment notification, I nod. With this money, Charlie won't have to struggle so much when it comes to paying rent. He won't need to deliver food in the middle of rainstorms just to make ends meet. The young woman begins pouring her heart out to me. "My husband and I have been married for five years. Today, I found out that I'm pregnant. I wanted to share the good news with him, but then I found a diamond ring in his pocket! "No matter how much I question him, he refuses to say anything. I got so angry at him that I ran out of my home. Do you think he's cheating on me?" I hesitate and am just about to comfort her when her phone suddenly rings. A man's voice comes through the speaker. It sounds helpless yet affectionate. He says, "You're so silly. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. The ring is a custom-made gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you found it before I could give it to you. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." The moment I hear that familiar voice, a chill runs down my spine. The name displayed on her phone is the exact same name as my boyfriend's—Charlie Bond.

When he kissed her on his stage he loved it. T him she was an angel and she felt right in his arms. Little did he know whose daughter he was messing with and before he did, it was too late for any saving. Now that he blames her for his misfortune, she must pay no what what the cost is and he will stop at nothing till she does. Worse now that they live under the same roof or rather yet, same room. Will his thirsty for revenge cloud his judgement or will love conquer everything?