HE LIKES TO PLAY AN ELECTRIC GUITAR
HE DOES SING, BUT NOT IN A CHOIR
HE THINKS HE’S COOL WITH HIS 19 TIRES
GOT THE LOOKS BUT HE’S PLAYING WITH FIRE
ALWAYS COMES BACK LIKE A BOOMERANG BACK TO ME
THE WORDS OF A LIAR DO HURT LIKE BREAKING A KNEE
SOBER FEELS OUT OF CONTROL
EVENINGS ARE HIGH, MORNINGS ARE LOW
HE CAN’T ACCEPT THAT HE’S GETTING THIRTY
HE’S OH SO SLOW, NEVER IN A HURRY
HE SERVES DESIRE WITH HURT AS A POTION TO ME
WHENEVER HE’S GONE HE REINVENTS THE WORD FREE