| Wide eyes and corkscrew hair
|
| Tied with lace you found somewhere
|
| Hard gloss on lipstick smile
|
| Wound up tight to spin for a while
|
| Black jeans with tortured seams
|
| Don’t mean that much to me Cool shades and dayglo tears
|
| All hide your sixteen years
|
| But I don’t like to say my thoughts out loud
|
| But I’m liking too much what I see
|
| You flirt with every little boy in town
|
| You dress to kill and now you’re killing me In your spring collection
|
| You’re just another girl with stars in your eyes
|
| I could have been there and back
|
| But I don’t want to go home with you
|
| Don’t like your plastic shoes
|
| Don’t like your hair dyed blue
|
| Don’t like your damned new rose
|
| Don’t like your casual pose
|
| I don’t wanna go out tonight
|
| But I don’t wanna sit here 'cos there’s nothing on the radio
|
| You’re coming round tonight
|
| In your parachute suit that you bought in Portobello
|
| I often call your name out loud
|
| And try to tell you what I’m going through
|
| You’d sooner hang around with all your crowd
|
| 'Cos they all pose and think and dress like you
|
| In your spring collection
|
| You’re just another girl with stars in your eyes
|
| We could have been there and back
|
| But I don’t wanna go home with you |