Tell her this: I don’t like to kiss
I know that it’s something I’ll miss
Tell her that I’ll never be late
As long as she’ll be there to wait for me
Tell her this: my tongue’s in a twist
I ran through a confident fist
Tell her that the Gypsy was real
December is what makes the toe cramps and stomachaches hard to heal
And it don’t mean a thing
If you can’t try to be
What you’re always expecting from me
Tell her this: I’ll never be rich
And Christmas was always a bitch
Tell her that I still feel the same
But in between me and you, we see things better
And it don’t mean a thing
If you can’t try to be
What you’re always expecting from me
Still in my underwear watching some reruns of anything
I can’t forget
New York is still on my mind but I’m trapped here in Tennessee
Still with regrets
Tell her this: I don’t like to kiss
I know that it’s something I’ll miss
And it don’t mean a thing
If you can’t try to be
What you’re always expecting from me
No it don’t mean a thing
If you can’t try to be
What you’re always expecting from me
|