Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt.
Your rolled up sleeves in your skull t-shirt.
You say ‘what did you do with him today?’
And sniffed me out like I was Tanqueray.
‘Cause you’re my fella, my guy.
Hand me your stella and fly.
By the time I’m out the door.
You tear men down like Roger Moore.
I cheated myself.
Like I knew I would.
I told you I was trouble.
You know that I’m no good.