She's the kind could clean you out
And strip your cloths, blow-up your house
Stand you naked in the rubble
Blonde trouble
Making promises with your fingers crossed
Counting the cost of the things you've lost
Count the cost of the things unfound
Blonde trouble
She's like the driving force of fate
A mirror thrown from a speeding train
An elastic rope that's drawn between two points
Her voices would have lied to you
But the eyes say something different
She says I think I love you
But it's not the thought that counts
Roll a six cause you know you can
Stare down the barrel of a loaded gun
Move to a place that seems remote
She's the kind could clean you out
And strip your cloths, blow-up your house
Stand you naked in the rubble
Blonde trouble
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