The smoke cloud billows out his mouth
Like a freight train through a small town
The jokes that he told across the bar
Were revolting and far too loud.
They shake their heads, saying, "god help her" when I
Tell 'em he's my man
But your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger
I can fix him, no really I can
And only I can.
The dopamine races through his brain
On a six-lane texas highway
His hand, so calloused from his pistol
Softly traces hearts on my face
And I could see it from a mile away
A perfect case for my certain skillset
He had a halo of the highest grade
He just hadn't met me yet.
They shake their heads, saying, "god help her" when I
Tell 'em he's my man
But your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger
I can fix him, no really I can
And only I can.
Good boy, that's right
Come close, I'll show you heaven
If you'll be an angel all night
Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man
No really I can.
They shook their heads, saying, "god help her" when I
Told 'em he's my man (I told 'em he's my man)
But your good lord didn't need to lift a finger
I can fix him, no really I can (no really I can)
Whoa, maybe I can't.
|
Taylor Swift in Album THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT Released in 2024 |