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If I'm talking to you at the back of the club |
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Why does he walk past me? |
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And why does he rub his shoulder past mine |
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Is it to let me know that he's there |
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Whisper in his ear, from me I don't care |
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I can't believe that that is what he thinks of you |
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That I would click my fingers tell you to jump |
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And that's what you do I think he needs to trust you |
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A little bit more |
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But I will walk over there and make his head sore |
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Is he really threatened by the presence of me |
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He won't let you walk or talk |
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He won't let you see what I've got in my pocket for you |
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And think that you'd love to |
