Mittwoch, August 21, 2013

that pretty, pretty girl with her nice neat lips

if you run into the eye of the storm
To get round the back
You better hit the floor
'Cause screaming
No, I can't take it
I can't take it

I can't take it anymore
'Til your eyes and your mouth is sore
Doesn't help anyone
Doesn't do any good
But you'd do something else
If you only could


And I wish I could grow up
Wish I could be well behaved
But every time I look him in the eye
I send him to the grave

And that pretty, pretty girl
With her nice neat lips
With your eyes on her chest
And your hands on her hips


This itch, this burn
This pain, this strain
Dealing, turned out
That we don't need to
Help it go away
So that's what
Leaving me
The gift you gave him

I can't take it anymore

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