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You go right through me |
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I go right through but |
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I'm about to |
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Go on reminding you |
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I am about to see you through it |
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Your mouth, not mind is open wide |
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You don't have a clue |
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I, I am a reminder |
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He's got a voice so talk to yourself |
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So lift the bad weight off your mullet |
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And let the thoughts fall off your tongue' |
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Cause I'm callin', callin', callin' |
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I've never written to anyone |
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So this is about ugly lovers |
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And this is about pretty songs' |
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Cause I'm a bastard, bastard, bastard |
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In my lipstick |
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I'm so much fun |
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Connect your wood feet to a motor |
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And the chrome dance trophy is won |
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A little classy plastic lumber |
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I'm embarrassed but |
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I ain't that stunned |
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Looks like the humans' days are numbered |
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That's a sitcom that was number one' |
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Cause we're a past tense late rate mowers |
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They must've thoroughly failed to convince us |
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Not to mess this place up |
