Stalker's my whole style And if I get caught I'll deny, deny, deny
Today you're twenty-five, I made you something fine It's in the palm of my new hand, it's out You're mostly what I think about and I'm proud I've been coasting on this singles route But I still hear your name in wedding bells Will I look better or will I look the same rotting in hell? You're the only proper noun I need Hurry, my copper crown's gone green Pull me, pull me on out of this tree I'm stuck up a branch waiting Clearly caught between two things unclear to me
Are you a female young messiah for stowaways in dugouts? And are you what church folk mean by "the good news"? Pulling plastic bags off heads Or are you giving me a dirty look in the rear view, clicking the button on your U-Haul pen? Don't pretend you didn't see me coming round the bend On my fixie with the chopped horns turned in Trailing behind your biodiesel Benz
Stalker's my whole style And if I get caught I'll deny, deny, deny
Twenty-five carved with a butter knife On the palm of my new hand, it's out You're mostly what I think aboutTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
