You hate the title, but you’re digging the song. You like it in theory, but it’s rubbing you wrong. You wouldn’t have wrote it, but you’re singing along. You hate the title.
I can’t, I can’t, with your “Just can’t even”s. Tinker with the levels ‘til we’re even-stevens. I blush ‘til I blemish when I think I done wrong, and you hate the title.
Bust out the shades ‘cause I shine when I rust, a crystalline compound in an oxygen rut. Are cruel intentions so sincerely a crime? If I blood let my bad thoughts, birds circle above. And you hate the title. Yeah, you hate the title.