I only wanted what everyone wanted since bras started burning up ribs in the 60’s
Favors a flying, faces a falling,
Every whore’s desire is to never be waiting.
If that’s a crime, let’s commit it
There’s a new crime, sexual suicide
When our underwire radio tears into their international airwaves
Boredom will die, ears will bleed
Every whore’s desire is to give and to please
There’s a new crime, sexual suicide
There’s a new crime, let’s commit it
While we’re waiting on the next day to begin it in the best way
Don’t worry Heather, about forever
Don’t worry about me
It’s alot to repave it, everybody roll the dice
Will we always be like little kids running group to group
Asking «who loves me? don’t know who loves me»?
It’s pathetic, it’s impossible,
Like girls in stilettos trying to run