| I keep binging murder mysteries until 3 AM babe
|
| Got this leftover marinara drippin' down my face
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| Got my CBD and whiskey, Bumble, Raya, CH
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| I know it could be way worse, I’m so ungrateful it hurts
|
| But baby I miss Mondays
|
| Strangers with the handshakes
|
| Bodegas and small chains
|
| Festivals and first dates
|
| Miss them sloppy make outs
|
| At the club with the lights out
|
| I don’t know where I go now
|
| Pack the car and roll out
|
| Cos I can’t sleep without the NyQuil
|
| And the texts all full of typos
|
| And these four walls making me psycho
|
| Oh yeah
|
| I need some rich people problems, I need to call up my driver
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| Tell 'em go pick up my friends, we all flyin' private
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| To some Caribbean island or a tropical paradise
|
| Don’t wanna close my eyes
|
| But baby I miss Mondays
|
| Strangers with the handshakes
|
| Bodegas and small chains
|
| Festivals and first dates
|
| Miss them sloppy make outs
|
| At the club with the lights out
|
| I don’t know where I go now
|
| Pack the car and roll out
|
| Cos I can’t sleep without the NyQuil
|
| And the texts all full of typos
|
| And these four walls making me psycho
|
| Oh |