| Yeah
|
| YAWNS
|
| Cold Hart baby
|
| Ohhh
|
| I don’t wanna be with myself, no
|
| Wish me well
|
| Should tell
|
| Yeah
|
| I don’t wanna be with myself
|
| I don’t wanna be with myself, no (I don’t wanna be with myself)
|
| So call me later on, wish me well (yeah)
|
| Cause we getting to the bread can’t you tell
|
| So tell me what you want, black Chanel
|
| And tell me why my dreams are haunted
|
| Why the only girl I ever wanted
|
| Blood red hair and a bottle
|
| Pocket full of gas, full throttle
|
| All my cars lined up on a pale moon
|
| I told her ride fast cause I leave soon
|
| I’m a pull up lost boy with my fangs out
|
| Looking in her eyes but I want her mouth
|
| I don’t want this solitude
|
| I just wanna talk with you
|
| I don’t want this solitude
|
| I just wanna talk with you
|
| All I want is solitude
|
| Counting up these Big City Blues
|
| All I want is solitude
|
| Counting up my Big City Blues, for you
|
| I don’t wanna be with myself, no
|
| So call me later on, wish me well
|
| Wish me well
|
| I don’t wanna be with myself |