Оригинален текст
(Words and Music by: Z. Walters)
Preachy bout a falsehood trade
counting fingers, bout the lot you made
nonchalant dont care look plastic smile
laughin to the bank with shag hairstyle
catch myself looking around
stuck in the shallow end and its makin me drown
lick your finger, and hold it to the sky
grab your sail man and raise it real high, cause
eh, who you think youre foolin
eh, who you think youre foolin
use it abuse it everytime I swear you bruise it
generically rich with your music
and tears fall when you lose it
turning you on is like a bite from a shark
bet youd go pop cause your hollow no heart
rooftop, were looking down
watching your red flowers turn brown
hit mix, its your profession
dont confuse passion with obses