Put ‘er there, pals, right on the mouth. That’s where you start a kiss off. In a skeleton suit, tonguing the boot. Who is responsible here? Caterwaul to the window and back with a poison well for a bubble bath. Shouldn’t it make you cry when your right hand steps out with your old time?
No, no, no, you’re not my bro. In fact, no one should want that distinction. Riding one cool breeze under seventy degrees to keep high ‘til I’m over it. High ‘til I’m well over you.
Bandage the aspens, dumb as molasses. They hibernate half of the year. Hatchback in blue, I’m bruising you, too, so who is responsible here?
That’s something that I’d like—to find a big, pink boulder I could claim alone for life. My fortune told me to beware of joining teams. I wanna be alone. I wanna be alone. I wanna be alone with all the girls I know.
Guess I’ll hide ‘til I’m over it. I’ll hide ‘til I’m over it, hide ‘til I hail over you.