On any other day I would shoot the boy, but your simple toy has caused a scene like this.
So leave him hanging on your wall, just a picture in the hall like a hundred more.
Consider this a gift as you taste him on your lips, and he’s making you scream with his hands on your hips.
I hope he leaves you empty, baby.
Just a fix for such a simple, little girl.

So say hello to all the boys at the top of the table that you’re under.
Lipstick lullabies, this is sorry for the last time.
And, baby, I understand why you’re making new friends, it’s just how you get by.

—  Mayday Parade - When I Get Home, You’re So Dead