11-21-2016, 04:47 AM
On my way to work one day,
the sun is bright, and everything's okay.
I whistle past the corner store, a pretty girl calls me over,
then as I look in her eye, maybe she was being shy.
She wants me to buy her smokes,
I'm wondering how old she is,
she seems sorry to say, 'only sixteen.'
Sorry girl, it ain't my thing,
don't kill your lungs so young and pink.
As I turned away to leave, she tried again,
'Oh, come on, please!'
I hope she remembers the last thing I said,
'It sucks seeing pretty girls smoking cigarettes!'
Mustang riders on the highway, flying,
keeping the windows cracked.
I guess you're stressed, the way your pedals pressed,
swimming in a Marlboro stack.
Going to a party to sip Bailey's Cream and coffee
with your posse all dressed in black.
Nowhere to drop your ash in the trash, flick it in the grass,
and open another pack.
It's not nearly as neat as you'd expect.
It sucks seeing pretty girls smoking cigarettes.
There's so many things, though, you can do instead.
It sucks seeing pretty girls smoking cigarettes.
Pencil scratch lines growing darker all the time,
circling their cheekbones and their eyes.
Wake up every morning with a mask on their mind.
The make up might, but the mirror never lies.
They can't go an hour, always gotta light,
say they want to quit but really can't say they've tried.
'No worries,' they say, 'got the rest of our lives!
So what if it's shorter, man? Everyone dies.'
I hope she remembers the last thing I said...Country music
the sun is bright, and everything's okay.
I whistle past the corner store, a pretty girl calls me over,
then as I look in her eye, maybe she was being shy.
She wants me to buy her smokes,
I'm wondering how old she is,
she seems sorry to say, 'only sixteen.'
Sorry girl, it ain't my thing,
don't kill your lungs so young and pink.
As I turned away to leave, she tried again,
'Oh, come on, please!'
I hope she remembers the last thing I said,
'It sucks seeing pretty girls smoking cigarettes!'
Mustang riders on the highway, flying,
keeping the windows cracked.
I guess you're stressed, the way your pedals pressed,
swimming in a Marlboro stack.
Going to a party to sip Bailey's Cream and coffee
with your posse all dressed in black.
Nowhere to drop your ash in the trash, flick it in the grass,
and open another pack.
It's not nearly as neat as you'd expect.
It sucks seeing pretty girls smoking cigarettes.
There's so many things, though, you can do instead.
It sucks seeing pretty girls smoking cigarettes.
Pencil scratch lines growing darker all the time,
circling their cheekbones and their eyes.
Wake up every morning with a mask on their mind.
The make up might, but the mirror never lies.
They can't go an hour, always gotta light,
say they want to quit but really can't say they've tried.
'No worries,' they say, 'got the rest of our lives!
So what if it's shorter, man? Everyone dies.'
I hope she remembers the last thing I said...Country music
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
